Angel Of Music Or Madness
by ParanoiaPoliticianDiva77
Summary: Christine has just been kidnapped off the stage after Don Juan Triumphant and as chaos reigns upstairs Christine is faced with a choice in the bowels of the Opera Populaire: But will Raoul make it out alive? Based on the stage show and 2004 movie.
1. Prologue

_"Christine! That's all I ask of-"_

Christine ripped off this mans small black mask and gasped.

His hideous marred face was worse than she remembered; it was now revealed that he had always been wearing a wig and prosthetic skin. It wasn't merely what the mask covered. The whole right side of his head was pockmarked and red, his hair thin and mousy, his ear nearly nonexistent. Her eyes opened wide in shock at this revelation and froze on the spot, unable to move or run, even though she knew he'd take her now.

Meanwhile the whole audience was paralysed in shock and fear of what they saw in their Opera glasses, the star of the opera was a hideous beast and they knew it wasn't make-up.

The phantom grimaced and flushed as he realised what she had done; he had declared his love to her and she had not been fighting it but then she removed his mask, his wig and his prosthetics and the whole of the theatre were shocked at the sight of his disfigured flesh.

He grabbed Christine and cut the ropes he had placed carefully ready for this night.

Once cut the great chandelier would plunge and crash onto the stalls of the audience.

He broke the platform they were standing on and fell through his trapdoor in the stage floor. The audience gasped as they disappeared into the underground of the opera house.

He grasped Christine's wrist and violently dragged her through the cellars below, going deeper and deeper underground, shouting as he went.

_Down once more to the dungeon of my black despair!_

_Down we plunge to the prison of my mind!_

_Down that path into darkness, deep as hell!_


	2. Chapter 1: Final Threshold

He ripped the wedding gown off the model of Christine and threw it at her in rage.

"Why did you do this?" he shouted at her, his rage even scaring himself.

She didn't answer but moved to go change. She turned and saw the bed she had once slept in. She moved to go there but he looked at her with a questioning glance.

"No, you may change here" he said flatly and walked over to his organ and sat down at the familiar keyboard. He began to play the song he had once sung to her; the angel of music, and Christine changed, reminded of the fact that she could not do up a corset without the help of a chambermaid. He saw her struggle with this whalebone garment and stood to help her. As he began to tighten the corset she winced and cried.

"Don't touch me," she said quietly.

"You can't do this up yourself-what am I supposed to do?" he asked and she nodded and the tears continued to silently run down her face.

Once it was done and her dress was buttoned he began to walk back to the organ but she began to sing.

_Have you gorged yourself at last in your lust for blood? _

_Am I now to be prey to your lust for flesh?_

He looked at her exasperated from her cries of protest but grabbed the veil from the mannequin and planted it onto her soft, curled hair.

_"That fate, which condemns me to wallow in blood _

_Has also denied me the joys of the flesh _

_This face, the infection which poisons our love _

_This face, which earned a mothers fear and loathing _

_A mask, my first an unfeeling scrap of clothing  
_

_Pity comes to late, turn around and face your fate  
_

_And eternity of this, before your eyes…"_

He shouted at her, pointing at his ghastly face, angered by her perception of his love for her. He grabbed the ring that he'd stolen from her neck at the ball and placed it in her hands.

Christine's eyes opened wide at the sight of her engagement ring from Raoul, now to be her wedding ring to her Angel. She looked up at him, shook her head and began to walk towards his mirrors.

_This haunted face holds no horror for me now… _

_It's in your soul that the true distortion lies…_

He stared at her; could she possibly be saying that she didn't care about his face? Could she be saying that she hated him for him and nothing more? He shook away the thought, as he was sure that if his face had not been scarred that she would love him, she just needed to see what was behind his scar.

He then heard someone approaching the cave. He looked and Raoul was at the gate, soaked through and desperate for the woman they both loved.

"Wait! I think my dear, we have a guest! Sir, this is indeed, an unparalleled delight. I had rather hoped, that you would come! And now my wish comes true, you have truly made my night!" he said sarcastically to Christine, knowing this was his chance to get rid of this boy once and for all.

The Phantom watched as Raoul began to scream for Christine's freedom and banged on the gates. She told him to leave and save himself and that's when he knew what he could do.

The Phantom began to walk towards the gate and began to bid Raoul welcome.

"Monsieur, I bid you welcome, did you think that I would harm her? Why should I make her pay? For the sins which are yours!!!" he shouted as he picked up a noose from underneath the murky water and roped Raoul around the neck and tied him to the gate.

"Order your fine horses now! Raise up your hand to the level of your eyes! Nothing can save you now, except perhaps Christine. Start a new life with me! Buy his freedom with your love! Refuse me and you send your lover to his death! This is the choice: This is the point of no return!!!" he screamed, mocking Raoul and trapping Christine where she could not win.

She looked at her captor in hatred and had screamed out in terror when he noosed Raoul, she didn't know what to do or where to turn

_"The tears I might've shed for your dark fate…_

_grow cold and turn to tears of hate!!! _

_Farewell my fallen idol and false friend _

_One by one I've watched illusions shattered!"_

Christine was frightened; The Phantom, her angel of music was on the verge of murdering the only man she loved, Raoul. He had tied Raoul to the gate and now had a noose around her fiancée's neck.

Helpless and confused from both men's cries for their causes she did the only thing she could do: sing.

_"Angel of music _

_Why this torment?_

_When will you see_

_Reason?"_

This did nothing but she continued to sing as The Phantom bellowed lines from 'the point of no return' and Raoul screamed for Christine not to throw her life away for him. She closed her eyes as tears rand down her face, helpless and weakened by fear.

_"Angel of music, _

_You deceived me_

_I gave my mind_

_Blindly…"_

Suddenly the cave became silent as her words echoed through the underground passages. Both men looked at her, waiting.

"You try my patience; make your choice!" the Phantom yelled at her, mad at the thought that she might even kill Raoul to stay away from him.

"Oh god" she whispered as she looked from him to Raoul and tried to reason, tried to make the phantom see his madness.

_Shadowy angel of music…_

_Isn't two men's lives enough?_

_God help me to convince you:_

_To shed no more blood!_

As she sang this he screamed and shouted at her and Raoul cried out for her to kill him, that he wanted her to be free. The Phantom glared at her.

"I warn you…do not anger me," he said sternly, pulling harder on the rope around Raoul's neck and he spluttered and cried out her name. She continued to sing, hoping that she could calm this madman, knowing that if she chose the Phantom that she and Raoul would be parted forever; the Phantom might even go back on his word and kill Raoul any way. Desperately she sang.

_"Is this all revenge for your_

_Beastly face?_

_Is this all for the life_

_Which it earned?_

_When will you see_

_That it is your soul!"_

"Curse You! Make your choice!" The Phantom shouted, cutting her off as desperation entered his voice and he clung to the rope that would seal Raoul's fate.

"I tried so hard to free you…" Raoul gasped and his face was filled with tears

_"Does it have to end with blood?!" _

She screamed in rage and despair, hoping he would see reason.

But it was too late; she had angered him and he was so full of emotion that he couldn't help but pull on the rope hard and long; sealing Raoul's fate forever.

"I'LL MAKE YOUR DESCISION FOR YOU!" he shouted in rage and anguish, realising as soon as he did it that he had gone too far.

Christine cried out in pain and she ran forward as Raoul was killed. He struggled and choked and his arms tensed in their bindings. She waded through the murky water, screaming for the Phantom to stop.

By the time she was at Raoul's side the Phantom allowed some slack on the rope, shaking at Christine's agony. Raoul's head lolled forward, uncontrolled, lifeless.

Christine sobbed and screamed as she untied her lover's bindings from the gate and collapsed into the shallow water, holding his motionless body to hers.

The Phantom stood back, trembling from Christine's grief and pain.

He had been dreaming and planning of this moment, of Raoul's death, for months now but as he stared at the woman he loved, screaming and sobbing in grief, he realised he would do anything to reverse what he had just done.

Christine sat in the cold murky water and cradled Raoul's body as she rocked back and forth, quietly crying, her face wet with her now silent tears. Suddenly she crumpled and buried her face into Raoul's shoulder and sobered uncontrollably, the pain unbearable, wishing and pleading that she could die.

"Don't leave me here…" She whispered to her fallen lover, running her hands over his smooth face, smiling at his once handsome expression now so red and purple from the lack of air that it was unbearable to see him.

She took the ring that was once hers from Raoul and pulled off her left ring finger and pushed it onto his smallest finger; his hands so much larger than her delicate fingers.

As she did this, she kissed his hands and held them to her face, wishing for the warmth that would never enter his hands again.

The Phantom jumped; he had heard it.

"_Track down this murderer_

_He must be found!"_

They were coming; the survivors from the chandelier crash, the police and the performers of the theatre were coming for him, to arrest him then eventually kill him for the lives which he had took and the terror he had inflicted on them.

Suddenly he had a flash of pure fear as he remembered himself, a small child running down the streets of Paris, following a blonde girl as he heard the cries of "Murderer!" and "Devils child!" He whimpered and shook from this agonising memory of his former life.

Then he shook his head, as if trying to get rid of that awful image, though his back was still prickled sorely from the scars of the gypsy's whips.

Torn between taking Christine and running or leaving her with her lover's lifeless body he frantically tried to reason with himself. He loved her and knew he should leave her be but that selfish feeling arose in him again and he knew what he would do.

He finally decided.

"Come, we must leave, it isn't safe" he said hurriedly, holding his hand out to her and then grabbing her hand when she didn't move. But he stopped; she didn't budge.

She looked at him with her tear-stained face, no longer crying but a hard look of hatred entering her face as her eyes narrowed at the very sight of him.

She pulled her hand away from his and continued to hold Raoul.

"So you can get away with all the deaths which you've caused? Never!" she said coldly, glaring at him, loathing the very sight of what once used to be her idol and angel.

"Christine please!" he cried out, anxiety entering his face as the bellows from the angry mob grew louder and closer. The anger in their voices scared him and he feared for his life.

"I hate you" she said quietly, then lowering her head to look down at her fallen lovers body, tears silently running down her face as she placed her hand over Raoul's face and closed his eyes, those tranquil blue eyes that she loved with every fibre in her being; she would now never see them again.

The Phantom's heart stopped; this was it. She hated him and there was nothing more he could do. He stood there helpless but once again heard the cries of the mob growing closer.

She watched him silently cry as he put on his cloak and put his white half-mask in it's pocket then put his sword onto his belt and grab a torch hanging from the wall. He racked through a drawer, his back to her shuddering and she could tell he was sobbing. He found a couple small moneybags and placed them also in his pocket. He turned and looked at her.

As he turned and took one last look at his darling Christine he realised that in his heart he couldn't leave her. He knew that it wasn't right and that he should leave her alone after all the grief he had caused her but his heart couldn't let him.

He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her roughly to her feet. She began to protest and resist as Raoul's body splashed back into the water, now unseen and abandoned.

She struggled as he pulled her back up to the dry land of his lair and threw the sheet on cloth off one of his mirrors; the largest one.

He grabbed a gilded candelabrum and smashed the mirror and all the while she struggled wondering what in the world he was doing. He finally smashed a hole in the mirror and pulled her through into a hidden stone corridor and threw the cloth back over the mirror so the mob could not follow them.

"What are you doing you fiend?" she shouted in despair, looking around at the corridor as she thrashed about trying to be released from his grasp. She wished that someone could hear her, anyone, she wished to be rescued but no one came.

She realised that struggling was useless as he pulled her through the catacombs underneath the Opera house. She would have to escape when he wasn't expecting it; resistance was futile.

After they had been walking through the tunnelled underground of the Opera Populaire for half-an-hour the Phantom stopped and looked around then pushed Christine to the floor.

"What are you going to do to me?" she whimpered as she huddled herself against the cold stonewall; ready to protect herself from an attack from this madman.

"Nothing angel, I swear I won't hurt you, I never will" he promised calmly, avoiding her accusing gaze.

"You've already hurt me more than I can bear. Why? I loved him and if you loved me like you claimed you do you would've accepted that and left us be. Why did you kill the only man I would ever love? Why did you kill the only man I could depend on?" she said softly, beyond tears or anger, just wishing for some answers.

He sighed; he had already tried this, he had tried leaving them be. But something inside him had cried out in rage and pain and told him that he must try to win her, no matter what the consequences. Why couldn't he think rationally? Why did he always act on impulse?

"You can depend on me Christine," he said quietly, regretting it the moment he said it knowing what she would say.

"Depend? The only thing I can depend on you for is to kill any man that gets in your way, no matter what the consequences!" she cried out in fury; how dare he say that after everything he had put her through.

He looked away from her hateful stare.

The Phantom hated himself at that very moment. He always had let things go too far, people were always hurt when he was around. He never seemed to do anything right. All he wanted was for her to love him and that was all but that mere wish had driven him to madness and murder and now she hated him.

"You should sleep," he said gently, avoiding her questions that he could not answer without pleading insanity.

"Sleep? How can I possibly sleep when I know my Raoul is dead and people are hunting for you? Where are we? Are we going to stay down here forever?" she cried out, angry with him for everything.

She realised how desperate her situation really was. This lunatic had finally got her and kidnapped her and now she would never see her beloved Raoul again. Nor Anne, close enough to be her mother or Anne's daughter Meg, her best friend and sister. She wished for the sight of one of these dear faces, to see her, to save her from this madman she once loved.

'Anyone!' she pleaded silently, 'anyone, please find me here before it's too late!'

Suddenly her captor interrupted her thoughts.

"We are in the catacombs of the opera house. I know them like the back of my hand my dear and there is nothing left for us here. We shall leave once I figure something out," he explained carefully "You should rest angel," he added, trying not to alarm her or hurt her anymore but the damage was already done.

She sat back in this explanation and finally trusted this man. He had seen how distressed she was from Raoul's death and everything that had happened in the past months. From guilt he would not dare hurt her or take advantage of her.

_Not tonight._


	3. Chapter 2: Screams of an Angel

Christine awoke to the gentle rocking of a carriage, warm in the Phantoms heavy black cloak. She sat up and looked around.

She was in a carriage pulled by two black horses. Sitting in the seat across from her was the Phantom, cold without his cloak, watching her in complete adoration.

He was now wearing his mask, prosthetics and wig again but she didn't care either way. She already told him in he cave that she didn't care about his face, that it was him she hated and him alone even if he was the most handsome man in the nation, she would still hate him and nothing more.

It was the man behind the monster that she feared and loathed.

"Morning Christine" he said tenderly, loving the sight of her in the white dress from the night before, surrounded by snow. She looked like a queen and he smiled at the thought of her wrapped in his warm cloak, her sweet scent mingling with his.

"Where are we?" she asked in fear, taking in her surroundings.

It was snowing just like that morning in the graveyard and she saw the soft snowflakes melt on his warm skin. There was a cloaked driver in the front of the carriage leading them through a snowy countryside.

"We're going to my estate in the south of France. It is near Bordeaux, a small manor and large grounds. It is in the country side and is quite calm compared to Paris" he replied, looking out into the snowy fields that they were passing.

"You? Country Estate?" she said in disbelief. She could not believe that this man that had haunted the caves underneath the Paris Opera House could possibly own something as upper class as a Country Manor.

"Yes, when Monsieur Lefevre paid me $20000 francs a month I could afford a lot more my angel" he explained "A year ago or so I bought this estate north-east of Bordeaux in case anything went wrong and I was forced to leave my Opera House. Believe it or not I am a normal person in some ways; I have a name, money in the bank and a country estate. You'll see I'm not such an outcast, angel," he said slowly, trying to get her to understand that he was not such a madman.

"Name?" she said, confused at the possibility of this man she had named her angel and phantom having an actual given name. It had never occurred to her; all she ever wondered was what he had been hiding beneath his mask.

"Erik Destler" he said, unsure of how long it had been since someone had called him by his real name. He had been called so many things since then; Opera ghost, Angel of Music, Phantom of the Opera, all of these names taking away his mortality, no one wanted to believe that he was nothing but a man.

Christine looked away from his green-eyed gaze, and whispered his name to herself as she closed her eyes. She thought of her beloved Raoul, torn from her and now lying at the bottom of that cold murky water, never to be found. She cried for him and felt more alone than she ever had in her entire life.

Christine remembered one of the last things Raoul said to her and it echoed through her mind.

"_I tried so hard to free you!"_

She knew it was Raoul's wish for her to be free and now in her moment of weakness, overpowered by grief, she had let herself be kidnapped by his killer.

Christine knew that somehow she must escape.

* * *

Erik watched her fall asleep, her silky, beautiful face once again smothered with tears. He was overwhelmed with guilt and knew he would try to make it up to her. He knew within his heart that nothing ever would compensate Raoul's death and that he would never be forgiven. But he knew that if it was all he could aim for, for the rest of his life then maybe she wouldn't hate him so and realise he felt as awful as she did.

Erik was only thirty-seven years old; Anne Giry had found him, ten years old, at the gypsies' carnival in 1835. She was sixteen at the time and training to be a ballerina in the dormitories of the Opera house.

From the moment he met her and she saved him he admired her but he had always felt something different coming from her. Through the years of their friendship he had a niggling suspicion in the back of his head that her feelings towards him were more than friendship.

When she rescued him she had hidden him in the catacombs beneath the Opera House. He remained there for years as she brought him food every night and spent all her free time with him. As he grew older she had realised that there was more to him than just a scarred child. He was smarter beyond his years and as she tutored him she realised that he didn't need it. She brought him all her schoolbooks from years before when she had gone to school and he became his own tutor. She taught him how to play the piano and luckily there was an old abandoned organ in the cellars, which they moved when no one was paying attention. He became accomplished in art and music, architecture and design.

But it was music above all things that he loved and adored. Anne soon saw what an amazing composer he could be, when as they were fixing up his caves one day when she was nineteen and he thirteen. As they were moving his table into place by a wall she heard him humming a tune she had never heard before.

_"Masquerade,_

_Paper faces on parade . . ._

_Masquerade,_

_Hide your face, so the world will never find you" _

She had asked him what he was singing and he replied that he didn't know; he supposed he must've made it up one day as he was working on his organ.

She soon was stealing bundles of blank manuscript from the conductor's office and sending them down to Eric and she taught him how to write the music out.

By the time he was sixteen he had composed his first opera and two ballets. She had taken the manuscript to the managers of the opera house but without a reputable name to go with the works they didn't give them any time and she was sent back.

When Erik turned seventeen he fashioned himself a mask, using materials from the costume and props room of the opera house. It was a half mask, white and made from leather amongst other things. He also made prosthetic skin for his ear and just beyond his forehead where his hair wouldn't grow. He also stole a wig made from real human hair; the finest quality. Once he had these things he disappeared behind them and once again was ashamed by his disfigurement.

Despite this, Erik turned his first composition, Masquerade, into a lullaby and made himself a papier-mâché musical box, in the shape of a barrel organ. Attached, was the figure of a monkey in Persian robes playing the cymbals.

This was such a personal item as when the gypsies imprisoned him, he had a small rag doll of a monkey holding two rounded pieces of metal. It was his only friend in the dark years of his childhood and now it was glorified as this beautiful music box.

As she rose in her ballet, he rose in his art, immersed in the beauty of his music. Whenever she would go down to his lair, as they had named it, she would constantly find him working at his organ, playing music beyond her imagination. While he played the music she would dance and when he stopped to compose she would stop to choreograph. They were a pair who could together put on an opera or ballet beyond anyone's imagination, but it was not meant to be.

When she was twenty-five she was a star ballerina of the Opera house; the best in decades. She was cast as the principle dancer in the new and upcoming opera and on the opening night she danced better than she ever had.

Instead of going with her friends out into the city, Annie ran down to the lair in excitement and told Erik, then seventeen, of her great triumph.

He had been overwhelmingly happy for her and brought out the wine and they drank, danced, sung and laughed for many merry hours into the night.

But then Annie had turned serious as they collapsed on to his bed, tired with the drink and his music box playing.

She had shakily stood up and asked him to also stand up. She had kissed him then told him that she loved him and always had loved him. She had told him that he didn't need the mask or anything, that she would love him all the same.

But he had stepped back from her and his bottle of wine smashed as he dropped it in shock. He backed away and sat down on his bed, not wanting to break his best friends heart.

Because that was all she was to him: a friend, the best of friends, but still a friend and nothing more.

He had finally looked up at Anne, whose eyes were wide, realising that he did not return her feelings. A single tear had run down her face and she ran, ran from the underground passages, never to return.

Erik knew that shortly after she had married and five years later she had a child, even later after that-nine years after that night, her husband apparently died of tuberculosis and seemingly Annie had never let another man into her life.

He always mourned over the loss of his only true friend. He missed Anne's friendship and guidance and sent her letter after letter to her, pleading her to talk to him or visit him, that she would always be his Annie.

But these notes were the only ones from him that she never paid attention to or obeyed their commands. While she pleaded his case to the operas manager to raise his salary and obey his commands, she never communicated with him ever again.

* * *

He blinked away a tear and continued to look at Christine. He really did love this girl, and he knew that he'd never deserve her, not after all that had happened, all that he had done.

"Sir, would you like to stop for the night? I know there's a small inn along this road, it's seven' o'clock and I'd rather have some sleep than go through the dark like this" came a voice from the driver at the front of the carriage and it slowed to a halt.

Erik grumbled and searched through his pockets then found a small bag of coins. He tossed it to the driver.

"Continue on until we are there" he ordered then got up and sat beside Christine, freezing in the night and in need of his cloak. He could not take it off her; she would freeze to death but then so would he.

He sighed and knew she would hate him for it but he got the large cloak and pulled it off her. He arranged himself comfortably on the seat then carefully pulled the girl to lean against him, her head against his chest. He was still wearing his costume from Don Juan and the shirt was an open one.

When she had arranged herself comfortably in her sleep, her head nestled under his, her body shivering from the cold, he threw his cloak back over them both and closed his eyes to go to sleep for the first time in the past two days.

* * *

Christine yawned as she awoke and could hear a steady heartbeat pulsating in her ear. In confusion she instantly sat up.

She had been sleeping with him! Erik! In her exhaustion he had moved her so she was lying on him, her head against his chest, the small patch of hair rubbing against her smooth skin. Another sick ruse!

She looked at him in disgust and scowled; he probably hoped that when she woke up she would realise that she liked it and stay there.

Well his tricks would no longer work on her, she thought defiantly. She looked around once again, it had stopped snowing and the sun had just rose, it would be spring soon.

"Excuse me!" she called out to the driver, moving to the seat opposite her as to talk to him without waking the pha…Erik.

"Mmpf, Oui mademoiselle?" he said wearily, looking straight ahead.

"Could you please stop Monsieur? I need to leave," she pleaded, hoping for pity from this stranger.

"Sorry mademoiselle but I'm on strict orders from Monsieur Destler not to stop until we reach his Chateau" he explained, yawning as he kept his eyes on the road.

"How could you possibly take orders from such a man? He is a madman monsieur! A madman!" She said, maddened but trying to keep her voice down as not to wake Erik.

"That may be mademoiselle but as he is my employer I shan't upset him by questioning and disregarding his orders" he said mechanically.

"What do you mean by employer? He is a madman, a murderer, a bandit! He is on the run! Surely you recognise the masked man they have been hunting? The Opera Ghost who caused the disaster at the Opera Populaire!" she cried out and then regretted her volume as she heard Erik stir; but it was only a snore.

"Mademoiselle, I am smart enough to know that and I know well enough to keep my mouth shut and continue with my job. He is a good employer and he pays a fair sum for a staff who he has barely needed til now as he is always on business in Paris" The driver explained sleepily.

"Staff? What do you mean by staff?" She hissed, confused and enraged by his lack of helpfulness.

"Lets see, me-the coachman, three maids, a housekeeper, two stableboys, two gardeners and a butler…ten in all mademoiselle," he said, ticking off his fellow employees in his head. "Now if you don't mind mademoiselle, we shall be there soon," The coachman added.

"If you're his coachman then how were you in Paris so quickly when Erik needed you the other night?" she asked, hungry for answers.

"Well, about three weeks ago he mailed me saying he needed my services in Paris this week, so I came and stayed at a pub until he needed me, to come when called" he replied.

Christine sat back in her seat, shivering in the early morning chill.

So Erik had been planning this all along, probably ever since he turned up at the masquerade that night, or even further back when he found out about her and Raoul's love. That was probably his motivation for writing Don Juan and presenting it to the managers.

He had planned it all for his petty revenge on Raoul.

She shivered more but didn't want Erik's cloak, she didn't want to be anywhere near this man, no this monster, who had taken her one and only Raoul.

* * *

Erik awoke to find Christine had moved away from him and the warmth of his cloak. Not that he was surprised of course. She was now sitting opposite him, still in the beautiful white wedding dress he had helped her put on as she had cried. It complimented her pale skin and the snow around them and he felt a surge of lust for this angel in white. Her teeth were chattering and she was covered in goose pimples as she glared at him. He smiled.

"Good Morning Angel, tell me now: Why are you letting yourself freeze to death? I assure you that dress was not made for winter wear," he said light-heartedly.

"No, it was made for me to be married to you but as it will never fulfil that requirement I don't see why it matters that it isn't a winter style!" she spat back, her words filled with hatred, but yet…wit?

"After what I did I'd never even dare to dream that you'd willingly marry me, I know that angel. I just had to see your fingers and lips turn blue like that…that's all" he said back calmly, knowing that with every word of hatred that she threw at him he would return with a word of love and adoration. He knew that it would force her to calm down and not be so feisty, no matter how sexy he found it.

"I'd rather freeze to death and have myself turn completely blue than sit back therewith you" she said frostily, her tone as cold as the snow surrounding them.

He stopped smiling and watched her rip a thin white ribbon from the decorated exuberance of her dress and use it to tie her hair back off her face.

"Why do you do that angel when your hair looks so beautiful down?" he said, knowing once again that she would fight any compliment or nicety her threw at her and he waited for her answer.

"Because I don't want it out, Raoul loved it out but since Raoul is unable to be with us at this point in time to appreciate it then I see no point in it out" she replied callously, giving him an icy stare.

Erik saw no point in replying to this; for the moment she had one but he wouldn't give up. He looked off into the distance and saw on the horizon a town, Bordeaux! And closer than that was his estate.

He smiled as they neared it, it was a beautiful place and in the past year he had sent constant letters to the staff there, requesting one thing after another to be done. He had requested gardens worthy of the palace of Versailles and his main chambers to have many hundreds of candles and candelabras, all in gilded holders. He wished for a pianoforte and pipe organ of the finest quality also to be placed in his main chambers. Also to have the finest statues and fountains to fill his gardens with. The staff obviously had thought he was quite eccentric when he made these requests, especially since he had only stayed at the manor once before. But now he didn't know how long he would be there, and doubted that Christine would stay for long. She would obviously try to escape and he was done with forcing her to do things, from the first moment he laid his eyes on her he took control and lost that control when he killed Raoul. After he did that she would never let him manipulate her again.

He wished that she wouldn't leave but he knew it was inevitable.

As they neared it he thought about the manor itself; it was a beautiful cream building with a suitable size for him. There were the usual servants quarters, kitchen and laundry then the main areas of foyer, living room, dining hall and five bedrooms. Then there were the stables with four horses he had bought, all black stallions. Then there was the glasshouse where they grew flowers in the coldest of winters and the garden cottage full of the gardener's equipment.

The last time he had been there was mid-spring and the whole estate had been alive with flowers and plants as ivy grew up the walls and the fields blossomed with wild flowers. The rose beds had been full with many flowers red, yellow, white and pink. What he had been most entranced with had been a single rosebush that flowered with colours of the deepest, darkest red, almost black. He knew, being winter, that these great beautiful gardens would not stun his darling Christine until the snow melted and the flowers bloomed. In a few weeks though it would be spring and the gardens would turn his great estate into an Eden, filled with the most beautiful statues and fountains.

The carriage slowed and Christine looked to the estate they had stopped outside of as the driver got down and opened the iron gates. They continued up the driveway until they stopped right outside the oak front doors, with bronze handles and knocker.

The manor was a typical upper class home, tall and grand. It was a creamy colour and contrasted beautifully with the pure white snow around them. Assembled outside the front were the other the nine members of staff standing in a line.

As Erik got out of the carriage they all bowed and curtsied.

"Bonjour Mademoiselles et Messieurs, I trust you are all well? For the while we will be hosting a guest at our humble dwelling. Mademoiselle Christine Charlotte Daae" he announced, gesturing to Christine who hadn't moved from the carriage. She avoided his gaze and looked out across the gardens as more tears moved down her face.

Erik instantly wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be all right but he remembered that things weren't like that anymore and that he could no longer show how he felt. Instead he held out his hand to help her out of the carriage and she grudgingly accepted it.

She stood and curtsied her ballerinas curtsy, hoping to be shown to her rooms as quickly as possible, so she could be alone for the first time in the past couple days. But Erik continued.

"Mademoiselle Daae is to be treated as if she were a queen. Anything she wants she must have" Erik instructed to his baffled staff "If she would like a steak at two in the morning she will have it, if on the coldest of winter days she would like a large bunch of summer flowers then she shall have them too. This girl…no lady must be treated as if she were angel, princess and goddess in one. Is that understood?" he continued, eyeing his staff.

"Oui monsieur" the staff replied automatically, all wondering who this girl was in relation to the monsieur Destler. Why was she dressed only in a thin white wedding dress in this cold weather? And why did she look so miserable and yet was shooting looks of hatred at their master? Why were her deep brown eyes red-rimmed and her face covered in tearstains? Why would the master bring a girl in such an awful state? What was it that had upset her so?

"Ladies" he said, turning to his housekeeper and the three maids. "Could you please show miss Daae to her rooms. I think she might like the largest room overlooking the gardens. The one that in the middle of the day is filled with sunlight."

"Oui Monsieur" the four women said and headed off through the manor, the housekeeper gesturing for Christine to follow her.

Christines jaw dropped as she entered the foyer, the walls filled with exquisite paintings. There were oil paintings on large canvasses of the Dordogne River, the river nearby, and then there were paintings of the grounds of the manor and watercolours from the nearby towns by the sea.

She gaped at one watercolour in particular, this one unlike the others, unique and now special to her. It was a view from high up of the rooftops of Paris as night had finally settled on the snowy city. There were romantic wisps of smoke coming from tall chimneys and sparkling white snow from the emerging moon. It was a romantic painting that had more depth to the others and it had made her think of that night Raoul had sung to her on the roof of the Opera Populaire. She blinked away a tear as she gazed at the art, knowing that Raoul would've smiled if he had seen it.

But then something caught her eye, a scrawled signature of the artist. She peered at the messy signature then with a jolt of heavy disillusionment that it said:

_E.Destler_

Christine turned from the painting instantly and continued on through the grand house, making a point of not to look at anymore paintings as she went.

* * *

Erik walked into his bedchamber, smiling at the sight of his pianoforte and pipe organ, the thousands of gilded candles that he had grown so used to over the many years. He threw down his heavy travelling cloak across his large bed and removed his mask, prosthetics and wig.

He turned and saw the large gilded mirror at the dresser and shuddered at the loathsome reflection. His marred flesh itched awfully and was red from the uncomfortable prosthetics that gave him constant rashes, making the condition of his face even more fearsome. It was now redder than ever and he flushed at the thought of that audience in "Don Juan" seeing his repulsive face at it's very worst.

Ashamed, he grabbed his cloak and threw it across the mirror. He sighed in relief as his reflection disappeared and he lay across his comfortable bed, thinking about his beloved Christine.

She had looked like heaven today, he thought, but he felt utterly in despair about her constant tears and wished more than life itself that he hadn't killed Raoul.

He scowled at the thought; if he hadn't they would still probably be down there, tired and fed up, as Christine continued to um and ah.

But, he wondered, how could she be red and puffy from the constant crying and her eyes filled with grief and hatred and yet he found her still as beautiful as an angel.

He sighed; women would always be a mystery to him. He thought that they were just like men; he thought he understood them until that night that Annie had professed her love to him that night. Since then he had realised what complex, emotional creatures they were and had no interaction with them until years later, he met Christine.

* * *

"Mmmmm…Christine…you shouldn't…ohhhh…" Erik murmured in his sleep.

He suddenly woke up to a hand affectionately stroking his face and (to his horror) another hand stroking his manhood.

He jolted and rolled over, not feeling as if he had been asleep for more than a couple minutes. He saw the youngest maid, Annamaria, leaning over the bed, her short chocolate curls falling from her white cap, framing her face. There was a seductive smile on her smooth face, flushed with her cheekiness.

"Bienvenue, master, it's good to see that you're well and happy," she said huskily, eyeing the vicinity of his crotch. She leaned even further towards him, her dress pulled low over her bosom.

"Annamaria!" he exclaimed, shuffling off the bed away from her. "I trust you are well" he asked, always nervous around this particularly promiscuous girl. She had tried seducing him last time and he had partly been dreading his return to the manor because of her.

"I'd be much better if you came down here…" she replied, presenting herself across the bed, her dress tighter than usual and she pulled off her white cap, letting her auburn ringlets frame her face completely.

"No thankyou, um, I think you better, um, continue with your, err, cleaning" he gulped, always unsure as to how he should deal with this young girl of nineteen.

"Why do you always say that? I'm definitely better than that gloomy whore that was with you today…" she said getting up and standing inches from him, her words starting an anger within him.

He instantly grabbed her and slammed her against the wall, in rage now holding her by the throat.

"You ever talk about Miss Daae like that again I shall kill you. No threat; I have killed before for less reasons than this and I'll do it again" he growled and finally released her, thinking he might've scared her into obeying him.

But with a glint in her eye, Annamaria kissed him softly on the lips and went to slide her hands back to his fly. He grabbed them and she shrugged and walked off, slamming the door behind her.

Erik shook his head and sighed.

Why was it that the girl he couldn't care less for wanted to jump into bed with him at any given time but his beloved Christine would never look at him?

Raoul or no Raoul.


	4. Chapter 3: Little Lotte in Black

Christine lay on the large soft bed and began to cry as she buried her head in the silky cushions, shuddering and pain and grief. The soft pink covers soon were stained with her tears, going a darker rouge colour. She wanted to die with heartache and longing. She would never marry Raoul nor see him again, as his body laid in the lake five stories below the Opera Populaire. Those last moments of his life ran through her head, over and over again. Him crying out and choking, slowly going redder and making awful rasping noises as he fought for his life. She remembered running through the water in the long white gown she was still wearing and screaming for the phantom to stop, that he was killing him, that he was her everything. She arrived at his body too late and had collapsed in fear and grief, unsure of what to do except to cry and sob. She remembered the Phantom vaguely, crying at her pain. She couldn't remember much after that, just that he had grabbed her and as she had protested he had taken her down a corridor.

That night was a flurry of emotions. Earlier that day she had pleaded to Raoul not to make her sing in "Don Juan Triumphant", that she thought that the phantom would take her, that she would be taken from Raoul forever.

She had predicted correctly as what had once been fears had turned into a reality before her very eyes. Raoul was forever lost and she was taken away and did not know how to escape. Madame Giry might've known about his estate, she knew more about Erik than she had let on and Christine knew it. But if not, no one would know where she was or what dangers faced her.

But he was gone. Raoul. Was. Gone.

After she had cried away all her tears she flopped over and looked around the room and realised how unbelievably beautiful it was. The furniture was all made of the finest timbre and there were paintings hung across all the walls. The curtains were a deep red and were pulled back to let the daylight in. underneath these curtains were a pair of white lace ones, bring privacy to her room. The window was large and in the middle of it was a door to go out to a balcony. She stood, wiping away her tears and opened the door, walking out onto the stone platform and looked out over the snow-covered land below and she thought to herself.

She thought of that night; her fate was sealed as soon as she had stepped onto stage and began to sing. She did not understand what had happened in "Point of No Return" but she couldn't control herself; at that point she forgot what the phantom had done and she had forgotten her endless fears. She opened herself to him and as she thought about it, it reminded her of the night where she stepped through the mirror and sung with him as they walked down to his lair.

It had been unbelievably sensual and thinking about it took her breath away. It was if that night she was in a trance around him and couldn't control herself as she sang to him, her blood had raced and she didn't come to her senses until he began to croon the song that Raoul had sung to her. At that point she realised what he was doing: he was using his music to control her and to forget Raoul.

Why she had ripped off his mask? She did not know, it had just been an impulse and nothing more she supposed.

She saw the one of the gardeners come out into the garden and begin to trim some of the branches off a pine tree, knocking the snow onto himself as he went.

"Mademoiselle?" came a voice from behind her and she turned around. She saw one of the maids, flushed and quite pretty, with light, auburn curls framing her face falling from her white cap. "Monsieur Destler wishes me to tell you that lunch is served"

"Merci, umm, what do I call you?" Christine said, unsure of these protocols, as she had never had a maid, ever.

"My name is Annamaria mademoiselle" the maid replied, "if you'll follow me mademoiselle" she added as she walked off the balcony and through Christines room.

Christine followed but was confused; did this maid just give her a challenging look?

One that says: I'm going to get you.

Christine shrugged off the idea and followed the maid through the house to the dining room where there was a serving of beef, baguette, cheese and wine. The phantom sat at the head of the long polished table and the maid pulled out the chair at the over end.

The phantom stood as she sat and she looked at him curiously.

She turned to her food and began to eat, ravenous after three days of crying and screaming and no food at all. She abandoned all courtesies and manners and began to stuff her face with bread and beef, cutting off thick slices of the meat. The phantom watched in content as he quietly ate, watching her every move.

As she was swigging down a second glass of wine she stopped and looked at him, realising how foul she must've appeared. She blushed and swallowed and wiped down her dress, now stained and filthy on the hem and train. She sat up straight like Madame Giry had always taught her to and picked up her knife and fork.

"What are you doing?" Erik asked, amused by her.

"What do you mean? I am eating monsieur" she replied coldly, cutting a small, delicate piece of beef and chewing it slowly, glaring at him.

"Well, you seemed so ravenous before, as if you'd hardly eaten for days (which you hadn't) and now suddenly you've stopped and acting as if you are back with the Chagny's," he said, a gleam in his eye as he reached for another glass of wine.

"I forgot myself for a moment, that is all" she said softly.

"Now you've forgotten how to eat I suppose my dear?" he jested, buttering his third piece of bread, not taking his eyes from her.

She stared out the window, accepting defeat for that moment, wondering how long she would have to wear this filthy garment, unworn by anything except a lifeless waxwork for years and now ready for rags after three days.

"Ah, yes I shall order a tailor in, he shall make you some beautiful gowns, whatever your hearts desire" he suggested, as if he had read her mind.

"Well, I hope your tailor has a lot of black materials as that is all I should need at the moment" she said, cool and detached thinking of her Raoul and realising she should be in mourning already, not in a dirty white wedding gown.

"Ahhh, well, how long should that period be for? I'm assuming this is in mourning?" he supposed, drinking another glass of wine.

"I don't know how long, as long as Raoul's dead I suppose" she said, glaring at him then placing her utensils on the plate and leaving the room, not looking back at him.

He sighed as he watched her leave the room and stood up and walked to the half-empty plates at her end of the table. He cut himself a piece of beef and ate it as he looked out the window; she would never stop loving Raoul and she'd never forget him, but maybe, just maybe, he could be the one to remind her that all Raoul wanted was for her to be happy, no matter who she was with.

If only she would look at him without that icy stare.

If only she wouldn't hate him so.

If only he hadn't killed him.

If only.

* * *

The tailor came that afternoon and she was given many gowns to choose from, beautiful white muslin dresses with coloured sashes and corseted pink dresses, deep red gowns and ravishing emerald green. She chose a sober and mournful black in each style, asking for the details not to be so extravagant, that she was in mourning and that was all she needed at this moment.

When the tailor had asked how long she would be in mourning, she replied that she didn't know and asked him how long people live. When he asked her why she needed this information she replied "Well monsieur to know how long I shall be in mourning," and he had looked at her, surprised at a girl so young wishing to dress in black for the rest of her life.

That night Christine did not attend dinner; she remained in her rooms and denied Erik her presence. In the end, a large amount of food, all on silver platters, was sent to her rooms. Chicken and cranberry sauce with steamed carrots, beans and potatoes. She ate in bed, a luxury that Madame giry had never allowed, and she wrote a letter.

_Dearest Maman and Meg, _

_I hope you are well and are not too worried about me. After Erik (The Phantom) took me down to his lair, he forced me to choose whether I would save Raoul's life and live with Erik forever or go free and Raoul would be killed. Erik blackmailed me into this, threatening to kill Raoul; he had a noose around his neck and as I tried to reason with this madman, he pulled hard on the rope and Raoul was forever lost to us, to me! _

_I cried over his body but Erik grabbed me and headed with me down the passageways. As I was in shock and despair, I let him, but the next morning I woke up and he had transferred me to a carriage, going to his estate. We are now there; it is an estate north of Bordeaux, though I do not know where we precisely are. Please! Help me! Find me! I do not want to spend the rest of my life as a prisoner of Raoul's killer! He is madman! Please, I only hope that I can post this soon. You are probably looking for me and I am sorry if I cause you both any grief. I love you both and would love you double if you could rescue me! Please!_

_Your forever loving daughter and sister_

_Christine Charlotte Daae_


	5. Chapter 4: Anne’s confession

Anne startled and woke up, as there was a knock of the door, she wiped her eyes in exhaustion and stood weakly from her armchair by the fireplace.

"Yes?" she said wearily, not having had sleep for days except small moments where she'd rest her eyes, she was losing track of what was going on-where was her Christine?

The head of police entered and took off his hat.

"We've found a body," he said bluntly. Anne's eyes widened and she gripped the edge of the fireplace mantle as to stay standing; not Christine…no…

"It is the body of the Vicomte De Chagny, Raoul, your daughters fiancée," he added, seeing her shock.

"Raoul? Oh dear lord…" she said quietly, lowering into her armchair, shaking.

"Maman? What's happened? What have they found?" Meg called out, walking into the room in her white nightdress. Seeing the look on her mothers face she hurried to her and embraced her, Anne's face white as a sheet.

"What's happened? It's not…" Meg said quietly, scared of what she might hear.

"We've searched the underground tunnels and caves of the Opera Populaire and we found a body under the lake in the main cave where he lived. It has been identified as the Vicomte De Chagnys body, strangled with a rope. Nothing else was found of great importance, all money gone and the mask, cloak and wig of our criminal all missing" the chief of police said. "It's obviously a kidnapping, he'll soon want a ransom probably," he added.

"No…it's not that sort…he won't give her back now he has her…" Antoinette said softly, realising what her dear Erik had done.

"What do you mean?" the chief of police said sharply, looking at her for ideas.

"Erik, I mean 'the Opera Ghost', he's been in love with Christine since the moment he saw her, and she denied him, he's obviously taken her to be his wife" she said wearily, knowing of the anguish of her second daughter now Raoul was dead.

"So we won't be expecting a ransom any time soon?" he said slowly.

"No monsieur, you had better start looking for them," she said, trying to think of where Erik might've taken her Christine. Where? She stood and began to pace, then she thought of it.

"He always spoke of buying a country estate, he always wanted one. I don't know if he got one in the end but I know he probably had enough money and power to do so, that's as far as my thinking takes me tonight" Madame Giry said, remembering her friend and her planning to run away to the French countryside and have a manor filled with servants and entertainers, beautiful gardens and for Erik; lots of blue sky, as far as the eye can see. She looked away and turned her back to her daughter and the chief of police, as she leant over the sooty fireplace, a single tear dropping into the flames.

"Madame Giry, what do you mean by 'he always spoke of it'? Were you in close contact with this felon?" the chief of police said slowly.

She turned and looked at him, nervous and realising she had said too much in order to help Christine. She also slowly realised if she gave away about Erik he would be executed, she knew she had to protect him.

"Non monsieur, non"

"Madame, are you sure? Are you lying?" he said, raising his voice.

"Non monsieur!" panic growing in Anne as she lied to save the two people she loved.

"Tell the truth Giry! Did you know him?" he yelled and she sighed, she would feign surrender-she had to.

"Oui monsieur, though we had a fight twenty-one years ago and have not spoken since" she said, knowing more questions would follow, questions that she could not ignore.

"Madame Giry! Have you known where this murderer has been hiding all this time? Have you been covering up for a man guilty of three murders and more?" he accused, his voice growing in volume.

"I…I…err…I pitied him monsieur, what he did was wrong but I pretended as if I did not know him and just advised the cast to be wary of what they said and did. I never meant for anyone to be hurt monsieur! I tried to protect him from them and them from him! That is all monsieur!" she cried out, falling back to sit in her chair, knowing she was doomed and was going to be arrested.

"Pity? Protect him? From what?" he spat at her, confused at her statement.

"Do you not know what he was? A freak! From birth he was shunned from all society, his own mother sold him to a gypsy who put him in a freak sideshow! All from a birth deformity! His face has been scarred since birth, red and pockmarked, one side of his face completely normal, the other monstrous! He would never be allowed to live without torment! That is why I saved him!" she shouted, tears beginning to run down her face at her only loves sad history.

"You what?" he bellowed, confused by this mess of a woman. She had been so normal before, acting as if any mother would when her child is missing, but this had brought out an unstable side of her and he hated that in women; never controlling their emotions.

"They whipped him monsieur! He was their prisoner-eight years old! And whipped because of his face! They threw rotten fruit at him and then would taunt him and pull off his mask and he would cry and scream in shame! I had to help him, if you had been there you would've done the same!" She yelled her face now wet with tears.

"You mean to tell me that you saved a boy, hid him for nearly thirty years as he commits murders and still think your case is just? Are you madwoman? The chandelier crashing killed an old woman and a man has been paralysed and will never walk again because of you covering up for this sick freak!" he shouted at her, stepping towards her, now inches from her face, angry beyond belief.

"Get away from me! I don't believe my case is just, I'm just trying to explain my reasons monsieur and I am attacked!" she shouted, pushing him away and running to Meg.

"Madame sit down!!!" he shouted and she stopped and turned to him and sat in her chair.

He pulled up another chair and sat close to her, his face close to hers.

"Now, explain as calmly as possible how you met this man, what is his name? How you 'saved' him, how you hid him and all his details" he said tensely, trying to stay calm. She sighed and wiped away her tears and began from the beginning.

" He has no name monsieur, at least that was what he said to me. He was always the 'Opera Ghost' he never gave me a name" she lied through her teeth, knowing it was wise not to give them a name

"I was sixteen, training to be a ballerina in the dormitories of the Opera House in the year 1833. My friends and I visited a gypsy carnival in the city on late Saturday night. There were fortune-tellers, bearded ladies, contortionists, and magicians all from the east. Then a man, Javert called us into a different tent to present to us what he called 'the devils child' a small boy, eight years old, with a piece of cloth with holes for his eyes and mouth tied over his head to hide his face from the many Parisian onlookers. He was in a cage, surrounded by rough straw, treated like an animal. The men and women laughed as Javert whipped the child then ripped his mask from his face to reveal revolting marred flesh on the right side of his face. The left side was normal-almost handsome, though everyone continued to laugh as the poor boy cried and scrambled for his mask and pulled it back over his head. As the people moved out of the tent I stopped and to take one last look at this sad child, and saw as Javert counted his money in the cage. I watched in terror as the child of eight crept up behind him and strangled him with the ropes binding his hands. I cried out in horror as the gypsy fell dead to the floor of the cage and the guard started screaming 'murderer!' and I couldn't leave him monsieur!" she explained, silent tears running down her face, now she wasn't looking at the officer but gazing off over his shoulder, as if she could see something that no one else could.

"So when you rescued this monstrosity you already knew he was capable of murder?" he said to her, but received no answer.

"I ran to the cage and let him out and we ran across the cobblestone streets until we reached the opera house and I took him through a back entrance and down to the cellars. He slowly made his own way down through the storeys of the opera house until he came to the catacombs. He then, over the next couple years, created a dwelling for himself, filled with candles to light up the underground passages and lakes of his lair. It was his playground when he was a boy and now, well up until a few days ago, his artistic domain. I brought him schoolbooks and tried to tutor him but soon realised that he was beyond tutoring, and he taught himself. I borrowed books for him from the library in Paris when he requested and when he found an old abandoned pipe organ in storage we moved it to his chambers. I taught him to play and he soon was composing beautiful works worthy of great operas and ballets. When he first came to live at the Opera Populaire I made him abandon his mask and told him that he didn't need it, that beauty came from the inside and he mustn't make such a big deal out of his marred face. But by the time he was seventeen he was ashamed of it and didn't care for what I said about it and he created a half mask, made of white leather, and stole a high quality black wig from the costumes area. He disappeared behind these for years and I have not seen his real face since he was seventeen, except when it was pulled from his face in Don Juan."

"You said you had not talked to him for twenty-one years-why?" he said, taking notes on a small piece of paper.

"Yes, well, we had a fight…" she started but trailed off.

"About?"

"Well, when I was twenty seven I became star ballerina and we were so happy. We spent a night getting drunk and I confessed to him that I loved him but then I realised from his silence that he didn't return the feelings. I ran, ashamed, and have not returned since" she said, flushing at the memory of her loving words and his stunned silence, of him dropping his wine bottle in shock and her running as she cried.

"You what Maman?" Meg began, shocked. She had never realised that her mother had loved anyone apart from her papa, who had died when she was four.

"Yes Meg dear" she sighed and looked down into her lap, as if it held something of great interest.

"You're telling me that you: saw a sideshow freak murder his captor, helped him escape, stole for him, helped him, befriended him, tricked managers about him and fell in love with him only to have your heartbroken and then you still continued protect him from persecution and justice. Woman are you crazy???" he asked, his voice yet again growing in volume.

"Oui monsieur, and I don't expect to get away with it, but you must understand that while he broke my heart I never stopped loving him-why did you think that I made sure all his commands were obeyed?" she explained, resigned to her pending arrest.

"I'm sorry Madame, but I've got to arrest you as an accessory to the murders of Javert, Piangi, Joseph Buquet and The Vicomte De Chagny." He said roughly, pulling her to her feet and cuffing her hands behind her back. Meg cried out, grabbing at the policeman but Anne stopped her. Meg fell to the ground in shock as she watched her mother be pulled from her and put in the carriage. She buried her head in her hands and cried as she heard the door slam and the carriage leave.


	6. Chapter 5: Competition

Christine woke to the delightful scent of roses and opened her eyes. She saw a red rose and instantly cried out.

"Oh Raoul you shouldn't…have…oh" she said as she picked it up and smelt it, feeling the silky ribbon and looking at the black bow tied around the stem. She looked at the phantoms gift in disgust and threw it to the ground. She grabbed a heavy book from the shelves in her room and dropped it right on top of the flower and left it where it had fallen.

She walked to her wardrobe and pulled out the first black dress that came to her hands. She called in her chambermaids, Celeste and Annamaria, and they began to help her don the mournful garment. She gasped for breath as she had done every morning she put on a corset, but nonetheless, Annamaria just pulled tighter until she was wheezing. Christine asked them to loosen it slightly and Annamaria did so grudgingly.

The maids began to leave and as Celeste went out the door, Annamaria stopped to look at Christine.

"Very happy" she said sarcastically with her hands on her hips "Really going to get the masters attention with that little number"

"I am not wearing it for fashion, and the last thing I want is that mans attention," she said coldly.

"Why wouldn't you want his attention? Isn't he rich enough? Handsome? Smart? Not good enough for you missy?" Annamaria asked, jealous of this girl who the master loved. She didn't deserve him, not now, not ever.

"Oh he's crazy enough and evil enough if that's what you mean. Are you really into the mentally unstable Annamaria?" she asked, realising this girls meaning, the envy in her eyes.

Annamaria glared at her and shoved past her, and Christine looked at her as she walked off, wiping her face. She liked Erik a lot, Christine thought, this girl was going to do anything to distract him from her and that's exactly what she needed, this could work to her advantage.


	7. Chapter 6: Promises made

Meg woke up on the floor of her living room, makeup smudged from not taking it off before she slept. She struggled to remember the night before and realised with a jolt of fear that her mother had been arrested.

She stood and ran to her room, dressing as fast as she could and throwing on her winter cloak. She ran out and mounted her dapple-grey horse. She rode him fast to the police station in the centre of Paris, where they (her mother and her) had spent the past couple days, wishing for news on Christine and Raoul.

She ran inside and came to the main desk.

"May I please see my mother-she was taken into custody last night and I'm not sure where she's been taken, would she be in jail yet?" she said hurriedly, pleading to know where her mother was.

"Name?" the clerk said, obviously bored, not even looking at her.

"Antoinette Marie Giry" she gabbled, hoping she was here.

"Oh yes, she still in there for questioning" he said, pointing down the corridor. She instantly began to walk down there and he followed her, shouting that it was off limits. She came to the door and pounded on it, screaming to be allowed in.

The chief of police opened the door and sighed.

"Your mother had just fallen asleep-we were letting her sleep for an hour before we continued questioning. You just woke her up," he hissed, recognising Meg's angelic face and golden blonde hair. She looked frazzled and worried, with streaks of black makeup smudged all over her face.

"Let me see her!" she said tensely, now embarrassed from waking her mother.

"No I'm sorry but that's not allo-" but he was cut off as she pushed the door and him out of the way and ran to her mother. "Are you okay Maman?"

"Meg, I am fine, I haven't told them anything. Listen" she said and lowered her voice to a whisper as the chief of police and the desk clerk argued about him letting Meg in

"you must find Christine and Erik, if they are found by the police he shall be hanged. You know he shouldn't be, but you must find them before they do. Please Meg, find Christine and save Erik, you're their only hope now"

"Yes Maman" Meg said quickly as the police officers resolved their argument; the chief had won and they heard the clerk muttering curses under his breath as he walked off.

"What are you two whispering about?" he said suspiciously.

"Oh, just instructions for my daughter while she is living alone, you have taken her carer from her you understand?" Anne replied icily.

"She's sixteen-should be getting married now anyway out" he said to Meg and she kissed her mother on the cheek and ran from the room.

As she left the station she heard the clerk call out to her.

"Thanks lady, you just got me 20 off my salary this week for not being able to control unstable customers" he said sarcastically and she turned to look at him. He was young, twenty-two maybe, Meg thought.

"Well, maybe you should learn how to control unstable customers then? If it's losing you money. Aux revoirs" she said and went to walk out the door.

"Wait! That was your mother in there?" he asked and she nodded "so she's a ballet mistress at the opera house-are you a dancer?"

"Oui monsieur, but I have to go," she said nervously, remembering the opera house as she last saw it-in flames with injured and frantic people everywhere. She shuddered at the memory.

"No wait, I love seeing the operas there-I think I recognise you-were you in Il Muto?" he asked, now interested in the girl standing before him, frazzled and worried.

"Oui monsieur, I was the chambermaid, now if you excuse me" she said, trying to leave politely, she did not have time to discuss operas with office clerks.

"No, I remember you, you were good, even though I did not like that particular opera-operas are supposed to be exciting and dazzling, not trivial and full of crap like that one," he said, looking at the pretty girl. She was gorgeous and she was so young, blonde hair and blue eyes she looked like an angel. "Tell me did it hurt?"

"Excuse me monsieur!" she said, unsure of his meaning.

"When you fell…"

"Fell?"

"From heaven?" he said, smiling at her. She blushed and looked down, mumbling something. She realised what she was doing.

"I'm sorry monsieur" she began

"Maric" he cut her off "Maric Lautrec"

"I'm sorry Monsieur Lautrec but I must go, it is urgent," she pleaded. He got up and began to walk towards her.

"And you are?" he asked.

"Meg Giry" she said nervously as he neared her.

"Okay then, I'll see you around" he said, shaking her hand.

She began to say something but the Chief of police walked in shouting.

"Honestly son, how could you not hold off such a small girl-she only looked fourteen? What the hell's wrong with you boy, letting people into questioning?" he stopped, looking at Maric, his hand still holding Megs.

She looked from Maric to the Chief and realised, that smooth pale skin and that same chocolate brown hair, with those dark blue eyes-he was the son of the Chief of police.

"Miss, I think you can go now," he ordered and Meg walked out the door, softly bidding Maric goodbye. She heard his father yell at him as she walked from the building.

"Honestly son-chatting up women in office hours-why must you be so bad at this?" he yelled.

"Pa, you know I don't want to do this…" he said tiredly.

"Oh yes, you want to paint! That's right-you're an artist!" the father shouted, a mocking tone entering his voice.

"THAT'S RIGHT!" Maric yelled in anger and Meg heard the door slam behind her. Maric walked up to her along the pathway.

"He's insane my father, thinks I am just like him cause I look like him, idiot" he said bluntly.

"You want to paint?" she said, looking at him with that angelic innocence.

"Yes" he said.

She walked along and mounted her horse again; he turned and looked up at her, high on her beautiful grey horse. He held out his hand.

"I hope to see you again, Meg Giry," he said and she shook his hand

"Me too Maric Lautrec" she replied then let go of his hand and galloped off, along the roads, the carriages and other people stopping and dodging out of her way as she rushed through and out of his sight.

He shook his head; what was he thinking? Daughter of an accessory in murder? He mounted his own horse and trotted off into the streets, unsure of where to go.


	8. Chapter 7: Flowers of Fury

Christine seated herself at the table once again for breakfast. It had been a week and she had suffered horribly; she did not know if Meg or Anne had received her letter and whether she would be saved or not. She did not wish to be kept away from the world for eternity.

She had constantly cried and raged over Raoul's death; her fury at Erik mingled with her torment of her lovers' death. She had now thrown many things at Erik at mealtimes; plates, goblets, vases and an expensive cut glass ashtray, which had nearly hit him in the head as he ducked and it smashed against the wall behind.

He had grown used to her wild temper, so unlike her sweet innocence at the opera house. This new side of her was beginning to grow on him and he found this feisty temper interesting and sexy.

She was now steeped in loathing of her captor. She hadn't realised that if she had gotten a horse and rode away, he would not stop her, that he was no longer holding her captive.

He was no longer deluding himself into a sense false belief that she might love him, he accepted that as long as he lived, he would love her and she, in return, would loathe him.

But she continued to live and think as if she was a prisoner and continued to throw things at him, wine goblet after wine goblet.

"My angel Christine, in a weeks time it shall be spring and I'd love for you to see the gardens at their best" Erik said conversationally as he ate a sumptuous breakfast of eggs and sausage.

"Okay" she said coldly, not looking up from her single crust of toast. When she had been given a breakfast like him earlier in the week she refused it and asked only for a crust of bread each morning. The chef was confused and offended but followed her requests.

"The flowers are beautiful here, I have had the pleasure of seeing the grounds in full bloom-every rose as gorgeous as the next" he continued, looking up at her "Though, no rose as beautiful as you my angel"

"Stop it" she said softly.

"Stop what my angel?" he said, knowing exactly what she meant.

"Stop calling me angel! Stop flattering me! It's over! You killed him and there's nothing you can do to reverse how I feel about you! So just quit it okay!!!" she shouted, picking up the rest of her toast and throwing it across the table at him, and he picked it up from the tablecloth and began to cut it up and eat it.

"Whatever you wish my angel," he said, putting the piece of her toast in his mouth and chewing deliberately, staring right at her.

"I told you not to call me angel!" she screamed and picked up her glass of orange juice and it hurtled past his ear, smashing against the wall behind him.

He looked at the mess behind him; this was a normal routine at breakfast now. He shrugged and turned back to his food.

"Oh you are impossible!" she shouted and threw her plate at him as she stormed out of the dining room, the maids watching her storm down the corridors and outside.

Annamaria entered the dining room, and walked over to Erik who had just pushed his plate away from him. She sat in the plates empty spot on the table, right in front of him.

"Why do you insist on this? I have already rejected you numerous times Annamaria, what is it now? I wont be seduced and you know it," he said, not even looking at her as he wiped his mouth with his napkin.

"Ohhhh, let me do that Erik" she said, ignoring his comments and sitting in his lap as she took the napkin out of his hands, and began wiping around his mouth. He grabbed the napkin back.

"I am not a retard Annamaria, I can wipe my own mouth," he said, always finding this girls tricks annoying. Though he wouldn't have minded it if it had been Erik.

"Oh, well I'm sure you wouldn't mind this, as you're obviously not getting any from that girl who throws things at you" she said, sliding her hand down his trouser front, but he grabbed it.

"Oh, I enjoy her throwing plates at me ten times more than you throwing yourself at me" he said, knowing she would realise that he had won and she would go off with her tail between her legs.

But she wasn't put off, she looked at him and leant forward and kissed him passionately on the lips and he pushed her back.

"I know you want me, I can feel it, soon you will realise it too," she said, getting off his lap and walking off, swinging her hips invitingly.

He sighed as she closed the door. Why?

He got up and headed outside to the gardens, knowing that's where Christine had gone.

He looked at his numerous paintings and stopped as he looked at the one in the foyer, a watercolour, a view from high up of the rooftops of Paris as night had finally settled on the snowy city. There were wisps of smoke coming from tall chimneys and sparkling white snow with light from the emerging moon. He smiled as he remembered painting that picture, one time when he truly relaxed in those three months of his disappearance. He had come here, with that constant image of Christine and Raoul falling in love on the rooftop of his opera house. He couldn't stop thinking of that night so he poured the memory into his canvas, and turned the memory into a work of art, while at the same time ridding himself of one of his painful memories.

He stopped and turned around and headed away from the foyer, he realised he should leave Christine alone, that baiting her wasn't ever going to get anything done and he walked back to his chambers to think.

He sat down at his pianoforte and began to play and sing.

"_Softly, Deftly, Music shall caress you_

_Hear it, Feel it, secretly possess you..._

_Open up your mind. Let your fantasies unwind_

_In this darkness, which you know, you cannot fight_

_The darkness of the music of the night..."_

He sighed as he remembered that moment when he had truly connected with her, that moment when she might've loved him. He had heard that night on the rooftop how much she had cherished his music and how she had felt when she heard it. If only he could get her to feel that way again about him.

"Floating, Falling, sweet intoxication 

_Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation..."_

He shuddered with longing of her warm touch again, the soft feel of her silky curls against his cheek, that night when he revealed himself to her and they had embraced as he had sung. It was amazing what he felt for her; how he could love and desire a woman so much it was unbearable. He leant on the piano, the keys playing as he put his head against them. What should I do? He asked himself…

Then he began to compose.

Meg looked at the envelope she held it in her hands in amazement, a letter from Christine! She ripped the envelope apart, and read the letter of Christines fear and pain, wishing to be saved.

Bordeaux! Meg ran to her closet and pulled out her travelling cloak-it would be a long journey and she grabbed a fresh apple and stuffed it in her pocket along with the letter from her sister and best friend.

She ran outside and saw Maric walking towards her as he tied his horse to the post.

"Bonjour Mademoiselle, I hope you are well. Unfortunately I bring sad news concerning your mother," he said, kissing her hand. She sighed; her mother had been under questioning all week and had refused to give any more evidence against Erik.

"What's happened?" she asked, annoyed that this had happened two seconds before she left on a good idea. She had been searching for places all week, writing letters to her mother asking for help but none came.

"She is being taken to the Paris women's jail, for holding information about prime suspects of four murders. Her sentence is four years," he said and Meg gasped and lost her balance. He caught her and put his arm around her and led her to the step from the front door. He sat her down.

"Four years? I've only ever gone without her for four days at once-she'll die in there Maric! Disease breeds in jail like crazy, you should know that!" she gasped, in a state of panic, her mother taken from her.

"Don't worry Meg, just breathe okay, all you can do is breathe slowly and evenly, just so you don't pass out" he said calmly, worried about her state. Her face was pale and drawn from her exhaustion and worry.

She nodded and as soon as a little colour returned to her white cheeks she stood and ran to her horse. She began to mount him as Maric yelled at her.

"Meg, where are you going?" he yelled.

"Going to find my sister, I promised Anne," she said, untying her horse's reigns from the post.

"Let me come with you! You can't do this by yourself" he said, jumping onto his horse.

"No, all I need is Fleur here and that's it" she said, pointing to her horse.

"But what if you're attacked? Where are you heading? Please! I just I want to help!" he yelled, cantering after her.

"Bordeaux! Come if you want, just-" she yelled, coming to a halt as she pulled on the reigns. He stopped next to her. "-You mustn't tell your father or any of the police what we are doing, I have to save Erik. If you want to keep in my good books then keep this a secret, they need to be warned that the police are coming after them" she hissed and his eyes opened with shock.

"You are saving your sisters kidnapper?" he said in disbelief, looking at her with his mouth hanging open.

"Whatever, just don't tell" she said and cantered off and he began to follow her down the streets of Paris out of the city, to Bordeaux.


	9. Chapter 8: A night to remember

"Sit down my dear Angel, I have something to show you" Erik said, excited at his new composition for her. Erik looked away, out the window, no longer caring for this mans music, but then he sat at the piano and began to play a new verse from music of the night…

She looked at him, remembering the same melody of the song he had sung to her on that night, that night when she had believed she loved him.

She glared at him, knowing he was trying to trick her again.

"You know I won't be fooled by that, I neither forgive you nor accept you and I definitely don't love you. Excuse me," she said coldly, even though winter was now over.

"But that's not all yet…" he started but she stood and left his chambers, annoyed by the fact that he thought that he could trick her through music again.

But no, she was wiser now and wouldn't be hoodwinked by mere flattery and charm, men writing sonnets for her would not bewitch her as they once did. She now had the life experiences of a normal elderly lady; deception, lies, love, lust, anger, hatred, despair, grief, regret and submission. She was now experienced beyond her years and from that grew her wisdom and she knew love from lust, dislike from hatred, annoyance from rage, sorrow from grief.

She had fallen in love and had her heartbroken all in four months and was no longer an innocent child. She hoped that Erik would realise that and would give up.

She sat in the garden, breathing in the heavily scented air, roses and wildflowers surrounding her. The snow had melted earlier in the week and the flowers had bloomed by the day before. February was nearing an end and soon it would be summer. Erik had been right about the gardens; they were like an Eden in spring. The fruit from the trees was delicious and she picked the wild flowers for her room, still smashing the endless red roses she found on her pillow every morning. Her bin in her room stunk of dead roses and she made sure Erik knew it.

She sat back on the grass, undoing her hair and letting it loose around her shoulders. She then lay back onto the green lawn, looking up into the bright blue sky, unsure if it was ever this blue in the city. She closed her eyes and wished Raoul was here to see how beautiful this land was. Then again if Raoul were alive, she would probably be with him, at the Chagnys place, feeling guilty about rejecting the Phantom.

'Stop it Christine' she thought to herself 'his name is Erik, he was never an angel, nor a phantom, nor ghost nor spirit, if anything he was the devil incarnate' she corrected herself.

"Why are you lying on the grass like that? Do you want to get you lovely black dress all stained by the grass like that? Oh no! Colour!" came a voice, mocking Christine and she opened her eyes and sat up, recognising Annamaria's scornful voice. She saw her, standing there, her hands on her hips, a smile entering those large chestnut coloured lips.

"Oh please, just go screw him for Christ sakes" Christine said, sick of Annamaria and her relentless jealousy. She had taken to just telling her this anytime she said anything to her.

"Stupid whore" Annamaria said, walking off.

"Wait," Christine called out, and Annamaria whipped around. "Why do you hate me? I don't even like that man, you can have him, I'm stepping aside fully, there's nothing in your way now" Christine said, trying to make peace with the girl.

"No matter how far you step out of the way I can't get through" Annamaria said quietly.

"Pardon?" Christine said, unsure of the girls meaning.

"It's just" Annamaria started, trying to think "It's just, he loves you and adores you and nothing ever is going to change that, even if I killed you he would never care for me, like what happened with your lover-I doubt you'll love again from the heartbreak-am I correct?" she explained, her meaning becoming clear and she sat down next to Christine.

"What do you mean? How could you know about Raoul?" she said quietly.

"It's in the newspapers, the chandelier crash was a disaster and it's everywhere. Then there was the notice of the Vicomte's body being found and his fiancée and the masked man who caused the disaster missing. You would have to be an idiot not to figure out that it was you and the master" Annamaria explained and Christine looked up at her in shock.

"They found his body? When?" she asked, tears running down her face.

"A week or so ago"

"Oh…do you really care for Erik in that way?" she asked, wiping away her tears.

"…Yes…" Annamaria said softly. "Ever since he first employed me and I set my eyes on him, I've loved that man, but he'll never love me. That's why I tried to seduce him so much; I felt that was my only card to play…" she said, her eyes filling with tears.

"Well…" Christine began, but was lost for words.

"Anyway, hope you have fun with that. Bitch" Annamaria said unexpectedly, getting up and now looking no different to when she had approached her. Christine looked at her in wonderment, questioning what drove this girl to be so unpredictable.

* * *

"Hello master" Annamaria cooed as she saw Erik slumped over the piano, a pen in one hand and a bottle in another.

"Mmpf" he grunted and she noticed half the bottle was gone.

"What's the matter?" she asked, the seductive tone in her voice gone and a caring one entering it. She sat down next to him and he lifted his head. He had taken off his mask and prosthetics and she didn't recoil at the sight of his marred face. She just waited for an answer as he peered at her.

"She doesn't love me" he wailed, he was drunk and she now noticed another bottle empty on the floor. "She never will, just cause I killed that sonofbitch…Raoul's an idiot…he don't deserve her…he wouldn't please her…" he slurred then laughed

"Harharhar…as if heee could please her! Harhar…Raoul…so…stupid…Raoul… stupid…girly…hair…har! Silly Raoul with…stupid…girly hair…harhar"

She sighed and took the bottle out of his hand.

"No, no, no! Don't do that!" he said but she pulled the bottle away from him and dumped it in the bin. He gazed up at her.

"Your pretty!" he garbled, a funny look in his eye.

"No I'm not, lets get you to bed…" she sighed, pulling him to his feet and he leant on her as she heaved him across the room.

"Bed? That sounds loads of fun…you…and…me…in bed" he slurred suggestively.

She looked at him, but flicked the thought away.

She pulled him across the room, muttering under her breath.

"Such an idiot, getting himself plastered like this. Probably doesn't even recognise me…otherwise he'd hit me not hit on me…" she muttered, him giggling at her side.

"Harhar…hit! Harhar…funny" he said stupidly, his apparent intellect dissolved by the drink. She sighed and shook her head at him and walked as she tried not to buckle under his weight, she was so small and him so tall and broad.

As she helped him into bed he pulled at her, trying to pull her in with him.

"No, you don't want me" she said, batting off his groping, drunk hands.

"But you're so…pretty! Pretty…brown hair…and chocolate eyes…Christine…you're so pretty Christine! Please…Christine! I…love…you…Christine…" he slurred, Annamaria shuddering at the sound of Christines name.

"I'm not Christine…shhhhh…" she said, trying to soothe him. He looked at her oddly.

"No…you're not…but you're still pretty…" he said, his slur not as bad as before as he peered up at her.

She blushed and walked from the bed, searching for his stash of alcohol with the intention of taking it into the kitchen and pouring it all down the drain. She found it behind the piano and looked at the wide range of drink in front of her; Vodka, rum, and whisky…she looked at it and looked back to him.

She was so depressed and one sip wouldn't matter, just a little something to keep herself going.

She unscrewed the lid on a flask and took a swig and instantly felt more at ease.

Who should care if he loved Christine, she could change that, she thought as she took another swig of the warming substance.

And another.

And another.

She was filled with warmth from the strong alcohol and it felt so good. She tripped across the room to his bed, taking another swig.

"You're…really…pretty…" he garbled again and she giggled drunkly, hiccoughing.

"You…very…sexy" she said, unsure of why she said it as she stared at his marred face. She took another swig from the steel flask.

"Except that…" she pointed stupidly to his right side of his face. He laughed and pushed her hand away.

"That…don't matter…Anne told me so…I'm still…sexy…" he protested and she was confused as she drank from the flask.

"Who's…Anne?" she asked, her speech now slurred.

"Anne…is my friend…my pretty friend…you're pretty…come in here…" he suggested, patting the large bed that she had once chased him around.

She had never been drunk before, and now she was plastered as she stumbled further across the room, taking another swig from the flask. She climbed onto his bed and leant over him and he leaned forward as their lips met.

Ten minutes later they were asleep on top of each other, peaceful and exhausted, her head resting on his chest, arms around his neck. Then suddenly she opened her eyes and ran to his bin and threw up the contents of her stomach. This happened a few times as she heaved over the bin, coughing and spluttering and in a stupor she dragged her clothes back on and left, stumbling down the corridors until she collapsed in the entrance hall, in an intoxicated slumber.

He woke up not long after and ran to the bin but didn't make it and threw up on the carpet and fell back asleep on the floor, coughing as he snored.

* * *

"Ughhhh…leave me alone…stupid Erik" Annamaria moaned as Penny, the housekeeper, shook her awake.

It was early, six in the morning, the time the staff woke and started cleaning and cooking breakfast. Penny had stumbled upon Annamaria in an intoxicated slumber with vomit caked around her mouth. She had sighed and began to shake the silly girl awake and only now, five minutes later had Annamaria begun to stir.

"Annamaria! Wake up!" she said firmly, shaking the young girl. She opened her eyes and looked groggily at Penny.

"Go away!" she said blearily, pushing Penny and she went to grab Alfred the butler.

He carried Annamaria to her bed in the servant's quarters and they tucked her in, Penny getting a damp cloth and wiping the vomit from around her face. She now slept peacefully and they left to do their work.


	10. Chapter 9: Faint memories

Erik groaned as he woke up; face down, naked on his rug, surrounded by the stinking mess of stains that was his own vomit.

"Ew…what happened?" he groaned and it came back to him.

He had been depressed about Christine and his stupidness at the thought that composing something could make her smile again and forget Raoul. As she had walked off into the garden, he lay on his bed in a state of self-pity. Then he remembered his stash of drink. He had gotten up and began to drink. Vodka then some rum…but then what happened. He strained his eyes as if he was trying to see again what had happened; He had sat back down at his piano, onto his second bottle of Rum when someone came in…it wasn't Christine…Annamaria! She had taken him and put him to bed, taking his bottle from him. That was nice of her, he thought, remembering the girls kindness, but then he remembered what had happened next.

As he had lain there drunk, calling out sentences of nonsense and drunken babble, she had searched his room, and then he had seen her with his flask of scotch. She had drunk from it and was now intoxicated with him and he asked her to bed and she fell in, and he cringed at the next memory.

Him, crying out hers and Christines names intermingling into one, screaming them in arousal, her groaning with pain. Her, kissing him then straddling him, him, kissing her back and her body on his. Him, inside her, her, kissing him more.

He grimaced as he remembered the night he lost his virginity, scowling at the thought of it not being Christine, not that that would ever happen now.

He groaned at the pounding in his head and heard a door open then a shriek from the other maid, Marie. He rolled over and she shrieked again and he looked up at her, wondering what the shrieks and covering of her eyes was all about.

He remembered: he was naked. He jumped up and grabbed his pillow from in his bed and held it in front of his manhood. He looked at the carpet, stained from his vomit and the bin, with Annamaria's obviously.

Where was she?

"Ummm…yes, well maybe in half-an-hour you could come back Marie and clear that up please" he said awkwardly "You, can…ummm…go now" he added and she backed out of the room, still with her hands over her eyes.

He sighed and grabbed a glass of water from his bedside table and looked around the room. Vomit everywhere on the carpet and empty beer and rum bottles littered the ground. He dressed, only just able to stand up and washed his face.

As he put on his mask, wig and prosthetics he walked from the room, down the corridors to the kitchen.

The cook and his helpers looked at Erik in surprise, they never saw him in the kitchen.

"Can I have the strongest pot of coffee you can make, please?" he requested, holding the bench to steady himself.

The staff looked at him curiously but set about making it as he left the room and went to sit in the dining room, staring out the window.

* * *

Christine entered in her usual black dress, her hair tied up. She didn't feel too well and she suspected her temperature might be up. She had decided that she would get up and have some food; it always made her feel better, and if she didn't feel better by eleven she would go back to bed and rest.

She was confused though; that morning she had not woken up to see a rose on her pillow. Could he possibly have given up?

But then she saw the look on his face, he was completely hung over, black bags under his eyes the size of Paris and he was drinking the strongest coffee she had ever seen.

He looked at her and his face didn't brighten like it did every time she had entered the room for the past couple weeks.

"Good Morning angel" he said roughly, exhausted, dehydrated and famished after throwing up the contents of his stomach all the night before and he wiped his face as if trying to wipe away the throbbing in his head.

"What the hell happened to you?" she asked, forgetting her hatred for him, intrigued on how he gotten so plastered.

"Well I lost my virginity if you really wanted to know" he said coolly and her jaw dropped.

"You…erm…what?" she said incredulously, amazed at his bluntness.

He began to speak but at that moment Annamaria came in with the breakfast, with the same look of a hang over which merely said 'kill me'. Christine gaped from her to Erik and realised what had happened.

Annamaria ignored Christines shocked gaze and Erik's questioning one. Going red she set down their trays and began to walk out.

Erik stood and walked out after her, and Christine watched him scurry after her and began to eat her plain piece of toast, smiling to herself, but then she stopped chewing…she felt really dizzy and she shivered. She dragged in a breath but found it difficult and choked, her eyes rolling into the back of her head and she lost her balance and fell from her chair to the ground, unseen by neither Erik nor Annamaria who had just left.

Erik ran after Annamaria, and she finally stopped walking and turned to face him.

"What do you want?" she asked coldly, her tone resembling Christines.

"Just…was last night real? Really? Please?" he begged, pleading with her.

"Well I remember you were plastered, I got plastered and then we screwed and fell asleep, shortly followed by me heaving my guts out into your bin and stumbling down the corridors and collapsing in the foyer" she said indifferent to what she was saying, staring at him with a cold face, all life gone from it.

"Shit!" he cursed and she shrugged and walked away. "Wait!" he called after her.

"Why'd you do it?"

"Do what? I believe you invited me to bed and I drunkly agreed," she replied.

"No, why'd you have a drink anyway?" he asked, wondering what had compelled her to have some. If she wanted to seduce him she didn't need the drink, she just could've jumped into bed and everything would've happened as it did, minus her throwing up.

"Because I wanted to," she replied.

"Seriously" he asked, holding her by the shoulders.

"Because I was depressed," she said, looking away from his piercing green eyes.

"Why? Because I was drunk? What was there to be depressed about?" he asked, confused. She took a deep breath, this was it.

"Because I lo-" she began but there was a shriek from the dining room.

"Miss Daae!" Marie screeched and Erik ran to the dining room as Annamaria sighed and shook her head; it was better anyway, him not knowing the truth.

She entered the dining room and Christine was slumped on the ground, fallen from her chair, coughing and shivering while muttering Raoul's name over and over.

Erik lifted her and carried her to her chambers while calling out for Marie to get a doctor in from Bordeaux. Wrapped in his own self-loathing from the drink he hadn't noticed the paleness of her face, and now he noticed the extreme warmth of her skin.

He felt her forehead and he gasped; it was burning hot.

He lay her down in her bed and pulled the blankets over her, frustrated at the memory of his bed as he last saw it. She coughed and shivered-she was still cold? He pulled another blanket from underneath her bed and laid it on her.

Penny his housekeeper came in, a worried look on her face.

"I've sent for a doctor" she said, feeling Christines forehead and gasping "She's so hot! I've seen this before monsieur, I think it's the flu" she said, uneasy at the poor girls state. Erik looked at her, fear in his eyes.

"Will…will we…" he gulped in fear "Lose her?" he asked, scared for the woman he loved.

"Hopefully not monsieur, but it's not just a head cold." Penny said, anxious for Christine and Erik's condition as he sat down slowly on the bed, his mouth open in shock and shaking from the distress caused by the thought of Christine dying. And it would be his fault! He gasped in pain and buried his head in his hands.

Christine was dragging in racking breaths and Marie came in with a wet cloth and began to sponge her forehead, which now blazing hot.

"No, I'll do it" Erik said and he took the sponge from her hands and moved towards Christines head. "My angel" he whispered "please my angel, please wake up" he said softly, a single tear running down his face and reaching it's end, dropping down to Christines chin and sliding away. "Don't be sick, I love you"


	11. Chapter 10: Doctors Prescription

The doctor arrived two hours later, those two hours Erik spent by Christine's bedside, sponging her face.

As he examined her he confirmed it was the Spanish Flu, the Influenza. Though she was in the early stages and with proper treatment and food she would definitely survive, though probably weakened for some time after and it would take a while for her heart to regain full strength.

He had woken her out of her state of unconsciousness and told her to rest and get sleep. He then turned to Erik as she closed her eyes.

"There is no cure yet to be found, but I can offer some treatments; wear carbolic masks as it may be airborne, cool drinks, soup, cold sponging to bring down fever, aspirin, orange flower water, fresh air, constant attention" the doctor explained.

"No cure…" said Erik, his eyes wide.

"No cure, if she begins to wander" the doctor began but was cut off.

"Wander?" Erik cut him off, perplexed.

"Lapse in and out of sleep, unable to rouse her, starts to hallucinate or have delusions, you must try your hardest to rouse her. If she begins to do these things it means she's slipping away. Rouse her with things she likes; play her favourite music or even things she hates, feed Christine her most hated food or drink. Either way those both have had a good rate of success. And talk to her, the whole time you're with her, talk to her, this keeps them with us," the doctor instructed and Erik looked worriedly at his darling Christine "I shall return in two days, if you need me send for me then"

Erik nodded in a daze.

This could not be happening.

* * *

Over the next couple days Meg and Maric journeyed along the roads to Bordeaux, the first night staying overnight at an inn and the second they rode through the night.

On the third night they stopped at an inn they saw at five o clock, meg protesting that they needed to ride on but Maric pointing our that if she went any longer without sleep she would collapse and then where would Erik and Christine be?

Accepting defeat she tied her horse up with his and walked into the bar.

They couldn't get a room each, there was only one vacancy, and it had a double bed only.

"Are you sure there's no other rooms?" Meg asked, never having slept in the same room as a man before.

"Hun, if you don't want to sleep with this guy then find another inn, we have one room only" the woman said, smoking a cigarette and Meg blushed.

"No, it's fine" she said, annoyed at the woman's lack of cooperation. They sat at the bar and Maric ordered two beers. When Meg objected saying she didn't drink he said it would help and he wasn't going to get her drunk.

They sat as they drank their pints, talking about what had happened.

"So why has this Erik abducted your sister?" he said conversationally.

"He loves her," she said bluntly, depressed at the thought of what was happening to Christine now.

"That's no reason to kidnap her? Tell me, what happened?" he requested and she sighed.

She began to explain about how at the dress rehearsals for the production of "Hannibal" someone let a backdrop fall onto Carlotta and though she was not hurt, she threw a hissy fit, and quit. Christine sang for the new managers and took Carlotta's role that night. The new patron the Vicomte De Chagny recognised Christine as they had known each other as children and invited her out after the performance. Christine then told Meg of her music tutor, a mysterious man who she thought was an angel of music that was really her father. Really this angel was a man who had lived underneath the Opera House since he was eight years old-Erik. That night she disappeared and the next morning when she returned she was in shame as everyone had thought she had gone and slept with Raoul, the Vicomte. So, despite Erik, who had written letters to the managers, Raoul and Carlotta explaining how he wanted his theatre to be run, they cast Carlotta as the lead in 'Il Muto' and Christine as the silent pageboy. In anger, Erik used his skills of ventriloquism to make it seem as if Carlotta was croaking and she ran screaming from the stage.

Maric laughed at this and Meg smiled.

"You were there, I remember that now, you saw all of that didn't you-in Il Muto?" she said.

"Yes, then that poor stagehand Buquet hanged himself by an accident with the ropes" he proceeded but then saw the look on Megs face "That was an accident was it not?"

"Erik did that, Buquet saw him on the catwalks above the stage and tried to catch him, that ended in Erik lassoing him" she said gravely, remembering she had been onstage at that terrifying moment when Buquet's body had fallen onto the stage, shaking from the strangulation. She shivered at the memory and continued to tell Maric of how Christine had told her later, that she had taken Raoul to the rooftop, as she knew Erik would kill him. It was there that Raoul and Christine had fallen in love, and planned to run away.

"For three months after that we saw, nor heard, from the opera ghost" Meg concluded the first half of the story and Maric looked at her.

She went on to tell him about Erik's reappearance at the New Years Eve masquerade, how he had ordered them to perform his new opera 'Don Juan Triumphant', taunted the guests then stole Christine's engagement ring. How Christine had gone to the grave of her father to truly see whether or not her father was the angel of music. Raoul interrupted and Erik and him had a swordfight, ending in Erik's defeat but Christine had pleaded with Raoul not to kill him. Later Raoul suggested that they could capture Erik using Christine as bait in his new opera. That night of the opera, Erik killed their tenor Piangi and took his place as Don Juan. He then seduced Christine with his song onstage and when they all thought Christine was lost to this man she ripped off his mask, revealing a hideous deformity on the right side of his face. He then cut some ropes and pulled Christine through a trapdoor. From the cut ropes the Grande chandelier fell onto the stalls of the audience and a fire started and pandemonium broke loose. Her mother had taken Raoul to find Christine and Meg had to hold off the angry mob that was out to kill Erik.

She couldn't hold them off and by the time they got down to his lair, he was gone and Christine and Raoul also. There was no sign of his mask, money or wig.

Maric sat in a stunned silence. He would never expect an innocent looking girl like Meg to have gone through so much, to have seen so many lies and murders.

"Wow, that's so exciting, I wish my life was half as exciting as yours," he said, taking a last gulp of his beer-the pint glass now empty. He looked at hers, which was only half full. Her face had darkened.

"Do you wish your sister was kidnapped, your friend and future brother-in-law dead and your mother arrested? Because that's what all this excitement has done to my life. My mother is in prison because of that damn bastard Erik. Once I've found him, warned him and saved him I'm going to kill that asshole!" she said, frustrated and upset by the position her mother had put her in and she drank in half of what was left of her beer.

"Don't worry, your mother will be fine, we'll figure out a way to get her legally out of prison and we'll find Christine, don't you worry," he soothed, shocked by this girl who'd been quietly sipping her beer and now was gulping it down.

She looked at him "How can I be calm when I don't know what's happened to my sister? She could be sick, injured, and is definitely suffering from Raoul's death" she said, worried for her only sister.

"Listen, tonight all we can do is get a good rest and make sure we're on the road there early, we should arrive there in another days ride" he said.

They headed upstairs to their room and started to make sleeping arrangements; he would put his pillow at the foot of the bed and sleep that way and then she would sleep the other way. They settled down, and fell asleep talking to each other about everything, like two innocent children, just talking and nothing else.


	12. Chapter 11: Pointless Affairs

_Okay, so I know I haven't updated this for almost forever...i've been busy. So I'm updating again-have many a chapter for this phic._

* * *

Erik's mind was now at ease; after two days of nursing Christine she had begun to recover and was now sitting up in bed, reading a book while eating some onion soup.

The day before she was too weak to sit up or hold a book but didn't want to sleep anymore so she lay, resting her eyes as he read to her 'Jane Eyre' a book written in 1847 by an English woman. She had enjoyed the pleasant sound of Erik's baritone voice gliding over the words of the well-written book. His voice still soothed her no matter how much she hated him and she hung on every word he said, enwrapped in the story of the poor girl overcoming her sad childhood.

But now on this Sunday morning, she was stronger and continued reading the enchanting book, hooked onto the storyline of the plain girl falling for her employer; the dark and sardonic Mr Rochester.

Erik constantly brought her warm soup and cold drinks of lemonade and bunches of wildflowers from the fields and placed in vases around the room. She felt at ease in this room now, wrapped in the pink covers of her large warm bed, knowing that she should not think of her departed Raoul while she was so weak.

The next day she was brought out to sit in the garden, to read or just sit and think while she ate her soup and he sat with her, the both of them in an agreed silence, neither trying to talk or wanting to.

But then on Tuesday, when she was sitting out in the front gardens, her chair right next to the rose beds, smelling in the sweet smell surrounded in the colours of spring, she saw something.

Two people, a man and a woman, on horses, one a dapple-grey and the other a black. Her heart leapt! Meg's horse was a dapple-grey and as they grew closer, Christine was sure she saw Meg's blonde hair. They stopped at the end of the long driveway and the man got off to open the gate. They rode in on their horses and Christine waved to them, tears coming to her eyes to see Meg again.

Meg stopped, seeing Christine waving at her happily in the gardens, holding a book and looking pale and even skinnier then before, drawn as if she had lost any fat she had before. Meg got down off her horse and ran towards Christine, screaming her name.

"Christine!" Meg cried as she hugged her estranged sister and tears came to her eyes.

"Meg!" Christine yelled, a feeling of absolute relief entering her.

Maric stood to the side as the sisters embraced after the couple week's separation of worries and fear. They obviously cared a lot about each other and he smiled at Meg's happiness. The girls began to talk.

"What happened to you?" Meg said, pointing at her sister's tinier wrists.

"I got the flu a couple days ago, but I've recovered, I'm just a bit weak so don't expect me to jump up and run around with you" she explained and Megs jaw dropped.

"The flu! We managed to keep you away from sickness all your life and two weeks with this bastard and you get a deadly disease! I'm going to tear him to shreds!" Meg exclaimed pointing to the house.

"Don't worry, it was mostly my grief lowering my immune systems apparently, that's what the doctor said at least," she said softly.

"How are you?" Meg said seriously, and Christine understood exactly what she meant.

"It's getting better, though every minute without him is like agony and everything reminds me of him. The warmth reminds me of those summers by the sea with him and these black dresses remind me of the one I was wearing that morning at the cemetery, when him came and rescued me. Every meal I eat, every song I hear and every breath I take reminds me of him. I haven't said his name for weeks and I don't plan to" she said, another tear running down her face and Meg hugged her then she continued to explain "The worst thing is that I'm living with his killer, the man who took him away from me. I can't control myself around him; I scream and rage in anger, I cry and screech in pain and when in doubt I throw things at him, I hate him and loath him and it doesn't seem to hurt him like it once did. If I ever denied him back at the Opera House he would go into a fury and cry, but now anything I do he takes in his stride and the endless compliments! His never-ending kindness maddens me even more! God how I hate him!"

Meg nodded and took her sisters and best friends hand

"It's okay; you can leave now, just come and get on my horse and we'll ride back to Paris" she said comfortingly "but one thing; Maman is in jail for concealing information about dangerous individuals from the police and she requested that I warn Erik for her. The police are going to come looking for him and he'll be hanged and if he dies I don't know what Maman will do"

Christine looked at her, confused "Why? What's so important?" she asked.

"Maman has been in love with Erik since she was sixteen. She rescued him from a gypsies carnival-he was a freak there-ten ears old. She hid him in the opera house cellars and they were best friends until twenty-one years ago she confessed her love for him to him and he rejected her. She hasn't talked to him since but hasn't stopped loving him either. I think it would break her in two to see the man she loved and tried so hard to save to be hanged before her very own eyes." Meg said, explaining the shocking news she had only learnt days ago and Christine's eyes widened and her mouth was gaping open in shock. "You know how strong Maman is-imagine that all gone-she'd be a wreck." And Christine nodded, knowing how strong Anne had been over the years and she really didn't want to see her mother as an emotional wreck like she was over Raoul.

"It's just…how could she love such a man? What would possess her to do that?" Christine cried out, now suspecting Anne's sanity for loving such a man.

"You know how people don't choose who they fall for, you know how it just happens. You should know what it's like to fall in love and then have that taken away suddenly" Meg said softly "I just don't want both you and Maman heartbroken like that; it tears me apart to see you so steeped in grief. I don't know what I'd do if I had that as well" she said slowly and I nodded.

"I guess"

"Bonjour Marguerite, I haven't seen you for so long" came a smooth baritone voice, and they turned to see Erik standing over them, looking at Meg and Christine in surprise. Meg gasped as he wasn't wearing his mask and his deformity was exposed. He chuckled.

"Gosh, I thought we were all over that by now" he sniggered "You know; all the 'oh my god what a horror!' and 'how very ugly!' and 'im going to faint!' Please! You should be over this by now, yesterdays news, move on"

Meg and Christine just stared at him and he stared back with a challenging gaze. Christine giggled and they all looked at her, Erik with a look of shock on his face.

This whole time she had barely smiled except for those times when she was sitting and thinking of Raoul; now she was giggling at Erik and the situation around her. He smiled and picked her up as she was still to weak to walk.

"What are you doing?" Meg exclaimed but Christine was calm.

"I'm still weakened by the stress the flu took on my body; the doctor said it would be wise for Erik to carry me for the long distance from the house to the garden. It's okay Meg, I'm fine" Christine explained, giggling again at the look of shock on her friends face as they followed her and Erik to the house.

* * *

"I figured they'd be after me" Erik said, exasperated after hearing Megs story of Anne in prison and the police hunting for him. "Tell me, is Anne okay?" he then asked, concerned for his dear friend. Megs face turned cold.

"Because of you she's stuck in prison-because she's covering up for you! She'll die in there because of you, how can you sit there so calmly-you were supposed to be her friend" Meg shouted, anger unleashed on the man she'd been cursing for the past weeks. Erik sighed.

"I am, I cherish her friendship above anything and do you realise how torn up I am about Anne's situation-" he began but Meg cut him off.

"Well why don't you hand yourself in-she's surrendered herself in order to save you-it's time for you to return the favour!" Meg shouted at him, standing up and glaring at him.

"Meg, I would do that in a second but do you think they would release her? She still would be guilty of being an accessory to murders and she would still be in prison and I would be hanged. We have to be smarter, we have to think of a way to get Anne out of jail without breaking her out or surrendering me, as that would do nothing" Erik explained, he had obviously thought of this a lot. She glared at him then sat down in submission, seeing his point, but she was still mad and stood up again.

"What if we can't find a way? My mother will be in prison for years!" Meg yelled at him and he looked at her in surprise.

"We will find a way-" he began but was cut off again.

"But what if we don't? I'm not just going to sit here and watch my mother rot in prison!" she screamed, tears now running down her face.

"I understand that but can you please calm down!" Erik shouted, frustrated by Meg's feistiness, both her and Christine had grown up a lot in the past weeks.

"No I won't calm down! We spent so long doing what you wanted just cause you broke my mothers heart! What was wrong with her? Why wouldn't you want her?" Meg shouted, bringing the past into the argument and Erik looked at her in shock-he never realised that she knew about Anne and him.

"Oh honestly! I can't make myself fall in love! If I had any choice do you think I'd love little Miss Too-good-for-me over there? No! But it just happens! Don't go bringing our past into this!" he shouted, pointing at Christine.

"I damn will be bring the past into this-if it wasn't for stupid you breaking my stupid mothers heart then maybe she wouldn't protect you and tell everybody where you are and then we could all cheer as you're executed!" she shouted.

"Ummm, Meg?" Maric tried but the fight escalated and soon Erik and Meg were just screaming at each other, over the top of each other's voices, neither listening and before long just insulting each other.

"No! It's all because of your stupid face! Honestly what the hell is wrong with you! It's just like a sunburn in my eyes, you make such a huge deal out of it you whiney coward!" Meg shouted and Erik touched his face at the slur against his deformity.

"You stupid girl! Do you know what a life this has caused me! You don't know anything you stupid whore! A sunburn? You must be joking!" he shouted at her, really getting angry at the mention of his face.

"Frankly you're such a whiney coward about it I cannot believe Anne could stand you! And Christine is right to hate you!" Meg screamed at him. Christine looked at Maric and shrugged, frustrated at their stupidity.

"Honestly! Meg! Erik! Just sit down you idiots!" Christine finally screamed and they both looked at her in surprise and sat down. "None of this is going to solve anything; Erik don't talk to my sister like that again, Meg don't provoke Erik by talking about his face. Erik, just get over the face thing, okay? None of us care about your face anymore. Meg, we are going to help Anne okay? Shouting at Erik is not going to help and you know very well that he didn't want to break Anne's heart so don't bring that into this. You guys are acting like five year olds you realise?" Christine told them off and Erik looked shocked about her uncaring about his face, Meg surprised at her attitude towards the both of them.

"Okay" they both said roughly. They continued to glare at each other and Christine sighed and grabbed her cane that was leaning against the seat and grabbed Meg and took her up to her chambers, still moving slowly from her weakness.

Maric looked at Erik, still intrigued by his face.

"So, that's like a birth deformity right?" he asked, pointing at Erik's face.

"Yes" he said roughly, looking down in shame.

"Why are you ashamed of it? I mean sure, it aint a pleasant thing but after the initial shock you look fine. You should stop beating yourself up over something that's out of your control" Maric suggested "Besides, when you meet women, it's a conversation starter" he added, grinning.

Erik looked at this boy, he looked so young; but how was he this wise?

"I don't care for any women except Christine, thankyou very much, and she hates me," Erik said woefully.

"Because you killed her fiancée, what's wrong with you? And don't say your face, we've already been through this," Maric said, interested in this man now.

"I am…was insane. I don't know about now but I sure was down there" Erik said conversationally, as if talking about his mentally unstable life with strangers was a daily thing.

"Well just one thing; if you are truly sorry, and truly show her that then maybe what she once felt for you may return. I'm not saying it will but from what I heard from Meg it sounded like Christine loved you before Raoul. There's something there; I could see it when she told you off" Maric said slowly and Erik looked at him.

"Who are you?"

"Maric Clouseau, I met meg when her mother was arrested. I'm the son of the chief of police" he said.

"The chief of police…" Erik said slowly.

"Hah! Don't worry, I hate my dad and I hate the police, I'm an artist at heart; I wont betray you" Maric said, laughing at the nervous look in Erik's eyes which now disappeared at the talk of art.

"What are your intentions as per Meg Giry?" Erik said.

"What do you mean…" Maric said quickly.

"I've seen the way you look at that girl; what are your intentions?" he said, no matter how much Meg frustrated him earlier she still was Anne's daughter and as Anne wasn't around to make sure Meg was safe Erik decided he'd have to do it. Maric sighed and looked away.

"I like her, a lot. She's so beautiful but so independent, she doesn't have time for the trivialities that most girls concern themselves with. She's unique," he said finally.

"Do you plan to court her?" Erik said, happy at this loving description of Meg.

"Yes…no…maybe…if she wants. I won't force her into anything. It's just the moment I saw her at the police station the morning after her mother had been arrested I knew she was something special, something different. Don't worry, I wouldn't hurt her for the world" Maric said, his eyes brightening at the thought of the girl he suspected he was falling for.

"Very well then" Erik said then added "Would you like something to eat maybe? The cook could make something up for lunch; I'm starving"

"Yes" I said and they walked off to the dining room.

* * *

"Christine! What is wrong with you? Why are you sticking up for him? I'm your sister and your best friend! He's a lunatic stalker who killed Raoul!" Meg shouted as soon as she got up to Christines rooms. Christine turned and gaped at her.

"Marguerite Antoinette Giry! How could you suggest that I'm siding with that man? I wasn't siding with anyone, as your stupid argument was just full of god knows what! Maric and me

were just sitting there wondering when you two would calm down and we could start planning how to help Anne but you weren't so I had to lose my cool with you guys!" Christine screamed at her, hurt that her sister would turn on her like that.

"I…" Meg started but looked at Christine, ashamed of her anger and hugged her sister "I'm just so scared about Maman, and it's his entire fault; I'm scared Chris, scared beyond belief" she whispered and her sister hugged her back.

"It's okay Meg, we won't let anything happen to Maman" Christine said back to her and they sat down on her large soft bed.

"This place is so beautiful Chris, really, your lucky that it was such a beautiful place. Just, what's that smell?" Meg asked, wrinkling her nose at the stench of the rotting roses in the bin. Christine got up and picked up her cane and walked to the bin, and beckoned Meg to follow her. She pointed into the bin at the dozen or so crushed wilted roses.

"Who gave you those…oh? Ohhhh…he's not still deluding himself?" Meg said, realising what Erik had been doing.

"Yes, every morning I wake up to a red rose on my pillow with a black bow on the stem. And every morning I pick up this rose and smash it with that enormous encyclopaedia on my bedside table. He realises but keeps at it" Christine explained, walking back to sit on her bed again.

"Mademoiselles, lunch is ready" Annamaria said from the doorway, glaring at Christine and Meg glanced curiously at the pretty maid.

They slowly walked down the stairs to the dining room where they could hear Maric and Erik laughing.

They entered the dining room to find the two laughing at something insanely funny Erik was saying.

"Come on Erik tell me again; what happened when you first tried talking to her?" Maric laughed, clutching at his sides.

"And then she said 'oh are you an angel?' and I'm sitting there thinking what was this girl talking about but I just nodded my head and said 'uhh yes I'm an angel' next moment she's going on about how I am her angel of music and that her father was going to send her an angel," Erik laughed then glanced at Christine standing with one hand on her cane the other on her hip "uhoh…"

"Was that me you're talking about?" she said, her face serious and staring at him with a look of disdain.

"Ummm…" Erik said, looking at her, knowing that she couldn't possibly hate him anymore than she already did. "Yes…but you got to admit-"

"I'm not going to admit anything," she said coldly and she sat down in her usual place for lunch.

She felt so stupid, she had already thought about that night when he first talked about her and how foolish she had been to actually think it was an angel.

She had been lighting a candle for her father in the chapel, eleven years old, and as she was crying over not having her father for such a long time a voice came from above. He had told her that she shouldn't cry over the dead and that her father wanted her to live and be happy. He had sung this to her and she had asked if he was an angel, and he stopped singing and said pardon, and she asked if he was the angel of music her father had promised to send her. He had then confirmed that he was her angel of music and he wished to guide her and keep her safe from the wicked world around her. He asked if she could sing and she had replied and said a little then sung for him.

Entranced he had continued to tutor her in the chapel over the years until she was singing more beautiful than the lead soprano herself.

_Could I be more of an idiot?_ Christine asked herself, if I had never suggested the very idea of him being an angel then none of this might've happened.

Then again, she thought miserably, she might've never gotten good enough to perform in Hannibal that night and Raoul might've never recognised her. They might've never had spent their precious four months together.

It wasn't her fault; it was his, stupid Erik.

She looked up from her lunch and Maric and Meg were still talking and Erik was staring right at her.

_God I still feel like an idiot though_, she thought. Even Maric was laughing at my stupidity over the angel thing. Stupid stupid stupid me.

Suddenly Christine got up and picked up her cane, and walked from the table.

"Christine?" Meg called out to her but she continued walking.

Erik got up and ran after her, but she heard and fastened her pace. He caught up with her and stood in front of her.

"You're in my way," she said quietly.

"I'm sorry okay, it wasn't like that okay. Sure I was surprised at your notion to my angelic state but I was never laughing at you" Erik said earnestly and she looked at him.

"Why should I believe you; everything you've ever said to me was to get on my good side, exactly what the angel thing was. I suggested you were an angel and you exploited that naïve childish thought to your advantage. You lead me on and made me believe that you were good, somehow somewhere inside you was a good being. But you aren't an angel and you aren't good" she said and he stared at her as she walked up the stairs.

She got to her room and sat on her bed in silence; a stream of emotions running through her.

* * *


	13. Chapter 12: The House by the Sea

**Chapter Twelve**

As the days went on and they planned how they would escape the police Christine slowly realised that Meg was falling in love; she was sure of that. She saw the way Maric and her sister looked at each other when they thought no one was looking, the way she teased him and the way he pulled at her hair. There was a connection between them and Christine felt shut out from her sister when she saw him with her.

She was angry; why should her sister fall for the sweet artistic man who cares for her and isn't in danger. Why should her sister get the life where she can fall in love without need to hide it from others? She had fought so hard to gain a life of freedom with her beloved Raoul and all of that was taken from her.

Meg got it easy; she was prettier than her and a better dancer. She was always the girl who talked and flirted with the boys at the opera house, while she, Christine was more of the shy outcast, an orphan, her only friends being Meg and Erik. She never really got into all the gossipy stuff that Meg was into and she was constantly reminded of her father's death, which made her sad and less appealing to talk to.

Christine frowned remembering this; her first moment when she truly outshone her sister was that first night of Hannibal, when everyone discovered there was more to little Christine than coyness and mourning. After that night the men had been rushing at her, the rich audience members trying to ask her to dinner, her male co-stars trying to chat her up and persuade her to take a walk to the abandoned old props room.

She had been the star and she threw that away for some stupid recluse in a mirror, she thought angrily. A stupid madman, obsessive about music and darkness, hiding from the real world because of his face.

Because of that madman, Raoul was now dead as Meg fell in love, not realising how much it hurt Christine as she was reminded of those happy three months with her beloved Raoul.

They had gone back to that house by the sea and even though winter had been setting in and a chilly breeze ran through the seaside town, they spent those days wrapped warm in blankets by the fire, talking about their lives and their futures.

One night, when they both had gotten head colds and their noses red and their throats scratchy, Raoul had gotten wobbly down onto one knee, sniffing at his running nose. He had held Christines hand and asked her in his stuffy ill voice if she would've liked to marry him and her eyes opened wide as he got out his handkerchief and blew his nose.

"Well," he had said stuffily, stashing away the handkerchief into his jacket "Would you?"

Her eyes had opened wider and she broke into a dazzling smile and wiped her nose then jumped into his arms and kissed him. He picked her up and kissed her back and she pulled away.

"Of course darling, I've loved you since I met you" she said, her usually sweet clear voice stuffy from the cold. He had smiled and his eyes had lit up and he had kissed her again.

Christine smiled at this beautiful memory, and remembered thinking how he could've possibly proposed to her when she had looked so awful and sick.

He had promised her the world and she had promised to love him until the day she died. She would never stop loving him and wished sorely that she could visit his grave, wondering how his family was coping at the loss of their eldest son.

Christine had met the Chagnys once when she was young, the second in those three months. The father was nice enough but the Comtess was pretentious and stuck up. She wouldn't give Christine a chance and she had dreaded dealing with her once the engagement had become official. Then there were his siblings; Susana who was older than her nineteen, Lily who was fifteen and then Louis who was twelve. Susana had been like her mother, tall and proud with blonde ringlets and a slim figure. Lily had been more fun, mocking her family and being the black sheep with her dark flashing eyes and straight coffee coloured hair amongst the family's light coloured hair and blue eyes, all other girls with curls. Christine had gotten on with Lily, who had been fascinated by the theatre and intrigued to learn that Christine was a lead soprano and ballet dancer. Whenever Christine was not with Raoul she was with Lily and they walked along the cold windy beaches, giggling as they swapped stories about Lily's older brother.

Then there was young Louis; who thought he was a stud in his prime. He had met Christine and become captivated with her. He would pull her chair out for her at dinner and visit her rooms at the strangest times offering flowers and chocolates, now and again having a whispered boast to her about the sizing of a certain part of his anatomy and happy with her appalled look he would leave her with the shock of his bawdiness.

Now she laughed at this young boy, who probably thought that she would be passed onto him now Raoul was gone.

Raoul.

She thought this name over and over, wondering if she'd ever say it again.

Raoul.

It still hurt to think of him

Raoul.

…

Raoul.

Christine woke to the sweet scent of a rose and was surprised as she opened her eyes to yellow petals and the ribbon around the stem was white. She looked at it strangely and wondered what it meant. Did he still have hope?

Would she ever understand this man?

She got up slowly and the maids came in to help her dress and somehow, in the middle of it all she forgot to smash the rose, which was still lying on her pillow, the yellow petals contrasting with the soft pink pillows.

She sat at the breakfast table, eating the bacon and eggs the doctor had suggested to give her strength and she felt Erik's eyes watching her every move, and she kept her eyes on her food. She glanced to Meg who's eyes were watching Maric with delight, happy at the sight of the man she loved and Christine grimaced at the sight of her sisters happiness in love.

As she finished her breakfast she walked off, not a word said to any of them except an amen in that mornings grace.

Meg wondered what was wrong with her sister; the grief of Raoul's death was an obvious factor but she felt there was something more, that she had sone something wrong.

Erik cleared the table as Maric got the map of the southern province of France out and laid it across the table.

"I say we head to Andorra, out of the country so the police can't get us and continue on to Spain" Maric suggested pointing across from the town of Bordeaux and dragging his finger towards the country of Andorra, a small country the size of Luxembourg between the French and Spanish borders. Erik shook his head.

"By doing that we condemn Anne to years of suffering in jail, we must stay in the country" he said, scanning the coastlines for a place to stay. Meg's eyes followed his along the map and an idea sprung in her mind.

"Raoul!" she exclaimed pointing at the city of Nice.

"What?" the men said confused.

"His family live in Nice, if we went there Christine could go to them and act in mourning for Raoul and get them to persuade the police to drop the charges on Maman. She'll show to the police that after that night she was so upset by Raoul's accidental death that she ran and hid in country inns, consumed by grief, making her way to Nice to seek comfort in her fiancées family" she explained and they nodded with her.

"That's brilliant Meg" Maric said softly, his eyes warming at the sight of her affectionate face and her leg brushed his under the table. He shuddered at her touch but her leg touched his again and stopped, feeling the warmth of his leg against hers.

"Mmmmm…" he said and Erik looked at him confused

"Huh?" he said, looking suspiciously from him to Meg.

"I meant hmmm, now we have to convince Christine" he made up, shuddering as Meg's leg left his.

"I'll go tell her," Meg said standing up.

"No I will" Erik said and swept out of the room, Meg leaving him to it as she and Maric leant in for a quiet kiss…


End file.
